Symptoms
by Seftimiu
Summary: When should symptoms be ignored? When should they be treated? And how can you tell the difference? And what do you do, when someone doesn't want comfort? Cameron/Chase and then Chase/House
1. Chapter 1

Chase had his eyes closed, trying to ignore the prattling the others were engaged in. He couldn't really decide if it was making it better or worse to try to ignore everything around him. On the one hand, the noise was making his head hurt worse. On the other, without some form of distraction, he found himself focusing too much on the pain itself. A happy medium, if there was such a thing, would be watching something engaging like television or listening to music.

He thought about grabbing his coffee cup and finding another lounge to sit in, but that would require far more effort than he was willing to put forth at the moment. Despite the pain that had kept him awake most the night, he could feel the pull of sleep as he sat in the hard chair. His arms crossed over his chest, leaning back in a slouch that looked lazy, he could easily imagine drifting off and in a way he hoped he would. He was bone tired.

"Chase!"

He almost groaned aloud. So close, yet so far from the sleep he desperately wanted. He cracked an eye open and peeked up. For all intents and purposes, he looked relaxed and probably a bit slothful. "Yeah?"

"Your shift almost over?" Asked the intern from the doorway.

He gave a soft. "Hm." Barely nodding.

"The patient's BP is a bit elevated." The intern informed him, with a trace of hesitation.

"Hm." He sighed, slowly standing up before ambling toward the door. "Of course." He muttered as he passed the other man. "It's not a normal day unless something goes wrong at the last moment."

"It's just elevated a little bit." The intern defended himself, needlessly.

Chase wasn't sure what his name was, nor did he really care. The man would probably work on a different floor next week, so it hardly mattered to him. "It always starts out small, and then it turns into the drama of the week." He sighed. "It never fails."

"I think you're exaggerating just a little, with all due respect." The intern hastily added the last bit. Hoping to head off irritation which Chase was unknowingly giving off in waves.

"You're new here, aren't you?" Chase rolled his eyes and then pushed the door open into the ICU so he could go look himself.

Vaguely offended, the intern waited at the nurses' station.

It did appear to be only a slight elevation, and could be due to pain. But Chase had learned you don't discount anything as simple or 'only' when it came to patients. Frowning, he looked back through the glass wall toward the nurses' station and then back at the patient. Sticking his head out of the doorway he called over to them. "I'll stay over. Just in case."

There really wasn't too much thought into the decision. He could either go 'home' and have to deal with Allison's questions and prying. Then try to go to sleep, which wouldn't come. Or he could stay here and at least be useful.

Lately, it had just been harder to make things work between them. At first, it had been everything he could hope for. At least, once she got over whatever stumbling block she originally had about them being more than just friends with benefits. But, he should have known that having both been trained by House, she'd start picking up on the little things. He tried to play it off, to tell her it was no big deal. He tried to smile and shake his head and explain that it was 'just one of those things' and that she was blowing it out of proportion.

The more he tried to put her off, the more she started to worry at things like a dog with a bone. Until finally, he started to get exasperated and resentful of her intrusions and questions. Leave it alone, Allison! But if there was one thing she was incapable of, besides ultimately 'caring', it was leaving someone alone when she thought they needed help.

He sat down in the chair beside the bed, frowning as his back protested his position, but otherwise giving no indication of his discomfort and settled himself in to waiting with the surgical patient.

It wasn't much of a surprise when Allison appeared at the door, staring at him, as he was staring blankly at the machines. "Are we going?" She asked quietly.

He didn't shake his head. But he did turn his body slightly toward her and raise his brows. "No. Least, I'm not. Patient showed signs of distress. I should be here. You can go on." He reported softly before turning back again, arms still crossed over his chest.

He didn't need to see her to 'feel' the sigh she gave and the way her body would seem to slump down in disappointment. He could easily imagine it all, including the small frown and slight wrinkle between her brows when she was trying to figure out what to do next to 'fix' the situation.

And therein lay the problem. He didn't need to be fixed. It wasn't something that could be fixed. He just wanted to leave it alone. And she? She wanted to talk, about everything.

"Okay." He finally heard the sigh this time. He knew better than to believe that it had been made in defeat. It was just a temporary truce, until he got home. "We'll talk once you're home."

He closed his eyes and then rolled his eyes before giving a soft. "Hm."

"Don't do this, Robert." She said quietly. Imploring him to 'let her in'.

"I'm not doing anything, Allison. I'm working." He said in that slightly mocking tone he occasionally took when she was irritating him.

"Yes, you are. You're avoiding the issues." She had moved past the doorway and into the room, her hands behind her back as she now leaned against the glass wall.

"There are no issues to avoid." He said evenly. "You're trying to create them, where they do not exist. And this isn't the time or place for this. I have a patient that just came out of surgery. Go home, Allison."

"I just think we should talk..." She pleaded softly. "You won't even look at me."

He looked toward the ceiling, as though beseeching a higher power before closing his eyes and then re-opening them in irritation. Then he turned at the waist, to look at her. His arms still over his chest. "I'm busy. Go home. We'll... talk there... though there is nothing to really talk about." He pointed out.

"Something is wrong." She started again.

"Yeah, there is. You won't back off!" He finally bit out, his eyes hardening. "I don't know what is with you lately. You ask if something is wrong. I say no. Instead of accepting that, you have to turn it all into some big drama and act like there is a conspiracy of silence against you. There is nothing for you to worry about. Nothing to fix. Nothing to get to the bottom of. I'm fine. But you are pissing me off because you keep pushing!"

For a moment, he felt bad as her eyes looked suspiciously watery, and then he saw her tighten her resolve. Her lips becoming a grim line as she nodded. "We'll talk at home. There's no such thing as 'nothing'. There's always 'something'. And if we ignore the symptoms..."

"A relationship isn't a disease." Chase said at first loudly, and then lowering his voice toward the end as he remembered the sleeping patient. "You're exaggerating every little thing!"

She shook her head at him sadly, turning back to the door. "No, Robert. I don't think I am. Little things have a tendency of turning into big things... I'll see you at home."

The woman slipped out the door, leaving him alone with the patient and he turned back to the bed. Leaning against the back of the chair, he mumbled. "Maybe..."

Home didn't look at all appealing. 


	2. Chapter 2

Chase knew he was going to hear about it long before he actually saw her. He hadn't bothered to return to their apartment. Instead, he'd sacked out in one of the surgical lounges. He had the perfect excuse, after all. An hour after Allison had gone, the patient coded. Since he was already there, he was able to deal with the mess, take the patient back into surgery, and fix the problem without too much fuss.

He was lying on the floor, flat on his back when he felt as though someone was staring at him. Sure enough, as he opened his eyes, he could see her. Her arms crossed over her chest, giving him that same hurt and sad look she had been gracing him with for the last few weeks.

For a moment, he thought about defending himself and his decision to remain at the hospital. But that just seemed as though he was in the wrong. And he was sure he was the 'hurt' party here.

"Why?" She finally asked in that soft voice that managed to put all her pain in perfect view.

"Patient coded." He said simply, not bothering to get up. He wouldn't. Not so long as she was standing there.

"You could have called..." She trailed off and sighed, looking away from him.

He hadn't really turned his head toward her before. Just maybe the barest inch, and now he returned to looking up at the ceiling. "I figured you would be sleeping. You know what this job is like. How often we end up pulling long shifts because a patient takes a turn for the worst." He pointed out in a level tone. "Nothing new there."

"No... but this distance between us is." She said gently. Trying to draw him out.

"Maybe, if you stopped pushing..." He began.

"You haven't... We haven't..." She took a deep breath. "In a while."

"You know why." He said between gritted teeth. "It's no big deal."

"It is if it isn't getting better. And it should be better by now." She protested, gesturing with her hands wildly as though to convince him by her sheer conviction on the subject.

"It takes a while. This... this isn't... a simple case of 'oh we know what is wrong, let's give them a treatment and then send them home with a pat on the head.' I'll adjust and then everything will be all right again. No big deal. It doesn't have to be a big drama. It's not something that would be fixed by talking it out. It isn't psychological. It's just a simple little problem that will eventually lighten up." He ranted from where he was lying on the floor.

"Have you had x-rays?" She asked, her voice tight. "An MRI?"

He rolled his eyes and groaned. "Oh for... of course I have. For years now. Every few years, it gets a bit worse. But it isn't deadly. It isn't going to kill me. It's not a problem, except that you're making it a problem."

"Maybe you should let us see the test results..." She offered.

"Allison? You're pushing. Stop it." He said tightly. "You're making this worse than it has to be."

"I just don't understand how we can't... fix this! Instead, you-you-you sleep on the floor, and you take pills, and you scowl and silently stew in the corner." She stepped closer and was looking directly down at him. "Why won't you let us help?"

"There's nothing to help with!" He yelled up at her. "I sit in the corner and scowl because it hurts. It does hurt. But there isn't anything to do for it but wait for it to stop. I take the pills because they help me move about and work. I go to the chiropractor. I get regular x-rays every couple of years. I do what I'm supposed to do. Some things, can't be fixed! And if I'm stewing, it is because you keep... keep... bugging me about it all!"

She took a long slow breath and then let it out. "Robert, you've had three prescriptions in the last three months for Tylenol Three. Codeine is..."

He looked up at her, brow furrowed. "You gotta be kidding me." He groaned. "You think I'm a drug addict now? You think my back and neck hurts because it's in my head and I'm using it as an excuse to score Codeine? Who the hell do you think I am? House? Shouldn't I be asking you for Vicodin scripts in that case?"

Chase gave her a disgusted look.

"You won't let me see your x-rays... but you ask for the scripts." She crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a severe, yet nervous look. "What else am I to think?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe that I'm in pain and would like to not be in pain? That you should trust me that I'm not lying to you?" He asked. "I'm not a drug seeker, Allison." He said in a growl and with a glare.

"I'm not writing you any more scripts." She told him, raising her chin.

"Fine." He bit out.

"Robert..." She started, giving him a beseeching look and holding out a hand toward him.

"I said, fine! You're not prescribing for me anymore. That's fine. I probably won't need anymore, anyway. Just go on into work, and let me get some more sleep... go!" He closed his eyes, trying to ignore her. If he could, he'd turn his head. But that would have been impossible at the moment.

"Robert..." He heard her whisper.

He kept his eyes closed and didn't say anything, until he finally heard her cross the floor and leave the lounge. Then he merely went back to staring at the ceiling, until he was needed elsewhere. He could feel the thread of their relationship snap. It had survived a lot of other things. But this? He was in too much pain, and too irritated to forgive quickly. And the more she pushed, the further away he went.

It was over. 


	3. Chapter 3

Of course, she wouldn't leave it alone. He should have known that once she was past the hurdle of commitment, that she would latch on with both hands and hold tight. That giving up, wasn't an option to her. Hell, he knew deep down in her heart of hearts, that she hadn't given up on House. Why on Earth would he believe she'd give up on him, since they'd had an honest relationship?

He supposed it was the fact that he was distracted by everything that he didn't take these things into consideration beforehand. Then he wouldn't have been surprised every time he turned around and she was there. Trying to make amends, while at the same time, trying to make it better. Trying to soothe his ego and pride, but at the same time get him 'help'.

At one point, he disappeared into the men's room, berating himself and her. It should be a non-issue. He shouldn't be so... angry. Shouldn't be so offended. And she shouldn't be pressing so hard about something that didn't matter. Creating a drama that just, shouldn't be. It was ridiculous. But even so, he was angry. He was offended. And every time she came by and asked 'what's wrong?' he felt himself close off that much further.

A twinge of pain here. And a spasm there. And then the question... 'what's wrong?' and he was ready to start yelling and slamming doors. Ridiculous!

The problem was not going away. The problem being, she didn't get when he said it was 'over'. He meant it. Which meant, he had taken to avoiding her, when he could. It also meant that she had taken to enlisting others to help her to 'help him'.

"She's sic'cing you on me now?" Chase asked from where he was sitting in the Maternity lounge.

"You, are a tough man to find these days." Foreman informed him, sitting down in one of the other comfortable chairs nearby. "You work in surgery. Not Maternity. Is there a particular reason you're here? Or are you just avoiding Cameron?" He asked, glancing over at the television which was playing some sitcom or another. Chase wasn't actually paying enough attention to know what it was.

"It can't be because of the snacks and television?" Chase asked, trying to look innocent. Eyes wide, face carefully blank.

"Only if you were House." Foreman countered, leaning further back in the chair and absently grabbing a magazine.

"Yes, well... figured if House hid here occasionally, must be something to it." Chase closed his eye and crossed his arms over his chest.

"So, you admit you're hiding." Foreman smirked over at him.

"Oh, bug off." Chase muttered. "I don't want to discuss it."

"Hey man, I get what you're saying. But she's just worried about you." Foreman held up a hand. "Just talk to the woman, give her flowers, candy, whatever and move on. Can't be that hard."

"Why do you assume I'm the one that's messing up?" Chase asked. "I don't want to talk to her. That's the problem. That's all she wants to do! Talk about it. How do I feeeeeel? What's wroooooong? How can she helllllp?" He drawled out in falsetto. "I feel fine. Nothing is wrong. And she can't help! End of story. But she won't. Leave it. Alone!"

Foreman stood up and lay the magazine down. "Chase. Look. She's told me a bit about the things that's been going on. If there's a medical problem, let's take a look at it and deal with it. Otherwise..." He let it dangle.

Chase sighed and groaned. "Is this about the T3s? I've had three scripts in three months. Each for twenty pills. One to two tablets, every four to six hours, as needed for pain. That's sixty tablets in ninety one days." He patiently explained. "I have fifteen left... that's forty-five tablets I've taken in ninety one days. That's not even one a day. How is this addicted behavior?" He asked, getting louder. "I take more bloody Advil than I do the T3s. I only take it for the pain I can't deal with. The rest of the time, I deal with Advil, and other things. Heating pads... I'm not addicted to the stupid things." He insisted.

"Pain is the body's way of saying something is wrong. You should have it checked out." Foreman insisted.

"I would be worried about it. If it was new pain. This is not new. This is old pain getting a little worse because I'm getting older, standing on my feet more, and working harder. I'll deal with it. Thousands of others do, every day. Why should it be any different for me?" He asked.

"Because you've never complained before..."

"I'm not complaining now!" He pointed out. "She's the one that kept picking at it. I'm in a new department. Of course, there's an adjustment period! I was expecting it. I'll get through it. It doesn't have to be a big dramatic medical case that we have to take to Diagnostics. I know what is wrong."

"How about you tell me?" Foreman asked, holding out his hands.

"Why do you care?" Chase shot back.

"I don't. But now I'm curious." He snorted in amusement.

"I have a sore back and neck." He finally growled out. "See how silly it is?"

"Chiropractor." Foreman pronounced like he was talking to a small child.

"No shite, Sherlock." Chase snarled. "I'd never have thought of that! I've only been seeing one off and on since I was eighteen." He rolled his eyes. "I just wanted the Tylenols for when I can't get it to lay off and let me sleep." He said very slowly, giving him a serious look. "For those times when I desperately need to sleep, and hot showers, heating pads, Icy Hot, and regular tablets aren't doing it for me."

"Then there should be improvement." Foreman argued. "You're over thirty now... there should be improvement. I'm a neurologist, damn..."

Chase rubbed his forehead and shook his head. "I'm done talking about this. This is not an issue." He insisted. He reluctantly pushed himself to his feet, feeling the twinge in his back as he did so. "I have work to do, I'm sure."

As Chase put his hand on the lounge door, he heard Foreman say. "You better make those fifteen pills last... because I don't think you'll find anyone else to prescribe them for you. We don't want you to end up another House. And they are contraindicated for long term usage in back pain, anyway..."

Chase ground his teeth together, and didn't deign to answer as he stormed through the door. 


	4. Chapter 4

He nearly groaned aloud as he saw Wilson approaching his table full tilt. He had his lunch in front of him, but had barely touched it so far. Wilson sat down without invitation. "Oh God... not you too?" He quietly prayed, looking toward the ceiling as though the deity would grant him this request.

"She's just..."

"Worried about me." Chase bit out. "Well tell her to stop. I'm not taking any more Tylenol unless it is so bad I want to scream. And I'm not planning on taking any more, anyway. I'm fine. End of story."

Chase wanted to stand up and leave, but his back had other plans. So rather than try to stand up, and ruin his dramatic exit, Chase concentrated on staring down at his salad and stabbing it viciously with his fork.

"You won't talk to her." Wilson pointed out.

"No. That was pretty much the point of breaking up with her. Not talking to her anymore." Chase tried to keep his tone light.

"Don't you think you're being a little childish?" Wilson asked gently, looking down at his own food, trying to figure out where to start.

"No more than everyone else around here!" Chase said brightly. This time he did indeed moan as House came limping up, dropping down beside Wilson to steal a fry. "I'm in Hell." He muttered.

"Don't worry. I'm not here to talk you out of being a drug addict. With everyone else bugging you, they don't have time to bug me!" House said, reaching out to steal a tomato off of Chase's plate. "I say, keep popping! I'm enjoying the quiet!"

Wilson favored him with a disapproving look before turning back to Chase. "Chase, maybe if you just... explained everything to her."

"What is to explain? I have a back ache. My neck hurts. It's pain. It'll let up enough later. Pain makes it hard to sleep. I get irritable. I don't feel like having sex. What is there not to understand?" He asked, almost desperate. "If she would have just. Left. Me. Alone! It would have been fine." He felt like a two year old. Wanting to stomp his feet and scream. Not that it would help, of course. Nor would it help to take a chair and beat it against the table.

"You don't feel like having sex?" House gasped in a mocking tone. "Oh no... you need an MRI, CT, X-Rays and Viagra stat!"

Wilson put up a hand and gave Chase a worried look. "This... started... because you didn't want to have sex? Are you serious?"

He shrugged the shoulder that ached the least. "I figure it did. She didn't start questioning me so hard until after I told her that I wasn't in the mood. Now she's acting like either I'm a drug addict, or there is something deadly wrong with me like a tumor in my brain that must be fixed to save me."

"Well, you know some kinds of tumors..." Wilson started, his voice quiet and gentle.

Chase pushed his plate away and put his head down on his arms, despite the twinge and spasm. "It's not a tumor." He nearly whimpered the words. He sat back up, unable to sit like that for long. "It's a long standing problem. I've had it for years. I've been working long hours, standing up. It'll get better!" He explained for what felt like the two hundredth time.

"Have you considered having new x-rays though? Perhaps you have... new damage." Wilson suggested, trying a new tactic.

"I have a Chiropractor." Chase sighed. "I get a new x-ray every year or so."

"Do you get an MRI and CT?" House asked in a condescending tone.

Chase was sullenly silent and glared.

"You know that X-rays don't always show all the damage." Wilson tried to keep his face as neutral as possible. His tone even and gentle.

Meanwhile, House was watching Chase's face, tilting his head slightly. Chase's face was a thundercloud. He looked about two seconds from yelling. Finally, House shook his head. He reached over, stole half of Wilson's sandwich and stood up. "I've got people to terrorize, things to avoid, and places to hide!" He quickly limped out the door while Wilson frowned at his empty plate.

Chase took the opportunity to slide out of his seat, and hurry as fast as he was able out the door as well. 


	5. Chapter 5

House rifled through the files taking his own sweet time. Cross checking any tests conducted in the last four months with Chase as the one that ordered them. Damn, there were a lot of tests. Most he could easily discount. But there were a few he had to take a second look at. He knew what he was looking for. A male of the same age as Chase, who had an X-ray taken as well as an MRI and CT. Of course, that meant there was a tech that had helped. But that was beside the point. They wouldn't talk. They valued their jobs too much. So asking them would be no help.

It was two in the morning before he found the file he was looking for. And when he read the name, he couldn't stifle the snort of amusement. Max N. Ruby. He rolled his eyes as he started looking up the results.

It was about three before he found all the files that he wanted to be looking at. He stole them from the appropriate file cabinets and went back to his office to do a bit of research. 


	6. Chapter 6

And so it went, every other day someone would approach Chase and try to advise him. If it wasn't about how he was handling his relationship with Allison? It was about his supposed drug problem. If it wasn't about him secretly being a drug addict? It was about getting help for his pain problem.

He found himself saying things like, you're the pain, and the problem. Go away, and it'll disappear!

Everyone wanted to help him.

It wasn't helping.

The more they bugged him, the more tense he'd become. The more it would hurt. The more it would hurt? The more he would end up rubbing his own neck and growling at people if they stepped near him. The more he did that, the more people were convinced he was turning into House.

He was getting very good at avoiding certain people. Learning to go left when they went right. Turning around and going in the opposite direction and then taking a different stair well or the elevator at the last moment. But there were times when it was unavoidable.

"Robert!" He heard the shout behind him and visible winced. But he did stop walking, knowing he couldn't even pretend he didn't hear her. Nor was there an available escape route. "Robert..."

He waited for her, not turning around. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, forcing his shoulders down from his ears where they automatically wanted to rise.

"I... I want to talk." She said, stepping around to face him. Looking up into his face. He could see her earnest look. The caring and love that she felt for him. The hope. And for a moment he felt intense guilt. His resolve breaking down... "You need help..." Until that.

For a brief moment, he wondered what she'd do if he curled up in a fetal position and cried. But then she'd just be convinced there was something wrong with him, and probably have him in Rehab upstairs so quick there's be skid marks from the gurney!

"No, I really don't." He held up a hand, trying to both stop her from talking and stop her from coming closer. "I don't have a problem. I'm feeling physically better. But I'm so damn irritated with the lot of you! Don't any of you understand what it means to just... let me alone?" He asked, honestly.

She sighed and shook her head. "You've pulled away from all your friends. You won't talk to me. I know that you asked one of the other doctors for a new script..."

"Which I didn't get because someone..." He pointed at her. "Has spread around the hospital that I'm a druggie. And I wouldn't need a new prescription if someone hadn't broken into my locker, and disposed of the pills I had left!"

"Robert, it's been too long. If it was a simple backache, it should have resolved itself by now." She pointed out. "For it to last this long means that something more serious is going on. Either something is going on, or you've developed a dependency..."

He closed his eyes and rubbed them. "Allison. I am not addicted to drugs. I've always had back problems since I was a young teenager. It sometimes gets worse. It sometimes gets better. I go to a Chiropractor. I deal with it. I don't whinge about it. I don't whine. I don't even point it out. All of you, on the other hand? Keep bringing it up. It isn't that big a deal. But because you keep bothering me about it, now? Now, I'm just... resentful of you and everyone else that keeps putting their nose in my business. You pushed me away, Allison. Not the other way around." He insisted.

She had started to quietly cry, and he groaned to himself, wiping a hand down his face. "I'm sorry. But I meant it, when I said I didn't want to do this anymore. I'm not a project to be fixed. There's nothing wrong with me that I need you to magically cure with your love and caring." He wasn't trying to be cruel. He just... wanted to be alone at this point.

Was he being unreasonable? Probably so. He knew that this was all just, blown out of proportion on both sides of the equation. But he honestly was resentful. He was irritated. He was out and out irritable! And it felt like they were poking a 'sore bear with a stick' each time they demanded that he needed their help. Why couldn't they just... leave him alone? Some things didn't get cured.

She didn't say anything else, instead, she passed him and hurried off still crying.

And he felt two inches tall. 


	7. Chapter 7

He'd not gotten a new apartment as yet. Instead spending his time either at the hospital or at a motel. Chase hadn't really devoted a lot of time looking, though he knew he should. Which is why he occasionally had people quip that he was the unholy love-child of Wilson and House. Living as he was in a state of limbo, as well as being so 'grumpy' lately. He was of course, not amused. It was easier to ignore them, than argue. And he was good at ignoring people when they were being stupid.

Chase found that while he wasn't officially listed as a drug seeker. No one was taking any chances in getting involved with the situation. He'd never realized how Cameron had managed to win so many friends and sympathy among others on the staff. So when he would go to someone, to ask for assistance, the usual reply was negative. 'I'd rather not. Perhaps you could go to your primary physician.'

He fell into a pattern throughout the day. Walk around. Stretch, stretch, lean and stretch. Hot shower. Heating patch and a couple of Advil. Lay on the ground. Walk around some more. There really wasn't a position that was completely comfortable. But sometimes it was just a dull achy annoyance that reminded him of incidents in the past when he'd dealt with his back acting up.

Closing his eyes as he leaned back in his car seat, he braced himself with his steering wheel. Pushing his back against the interior. The first time he hurt his back, he'd been in the car with his mum. He'd had no real injuries. Just bruising from the seat-belt. He was a young teenager at the time. Then he'd been in a few more fender benders here and there. No big deal. Sometimes with family, other times with friends. He'd played sports as well. Rugby and footie, both tended to end with one falling on their arse at times. He'd been no different. And sure he'd stand up and feel like someone had tortured him on the rack for a few days. But, hey, that was normal right? You get dogpiled, you should feel it! No big deal.

It wasn't until he was about eighteen, and working in the garden at the seminary that he'd faced what he considered the first instance of 'real' pain from it all. All he'd been doing, was shoveling dirt. He turned to dump some on the ground and he could feel something pull just 'wrong', snap, and then all of a sudden? He couldn't move. He couldn't hold the shovel. He could barely breathe!

At first, he'd offered a shaky laugh. Finding it was ridiculous that he was stuck in that position. He'd finally managed to get his legs to move, but he moved like he was an eighty year old man. He thought it was sure to feel better by morning. But it didn't happen that way. Two days later, he was still barely moving. He couldn't stand for longer than a few minutes without leaning on something. It hurt to lay down. It hurt to sit. It hurt to stand up. It hurt period! And it seemed so... stupid. All he'd done was shovel a bit of dirt.

He'd finally been forced to seek out a doctor. The last thing he really wanted to do, considering who his father was. He could be pretty damn stubborn when he wanted to be, and when it came to his dad? He was just that.

So instead of going to a 'proper' medical doctor, where it was sure to get back to his dad eventually due to the way people tended to gossip, despite confidentiality. He went to his first Chiropractor. The first appointment was x-rays. Of his whole spine. From neck down. The doctor had been hesitant to do an adjustment without having time to study them. So he'd spent the next two days, still in pain while they were sent off to be developed.

It figured that he would choose a place that didn't have on-site development.

When he'd come back in on Monday, the doctor patiently went through the x-rays. He was stunned to see how much damaged he'd managed to do in just five years. He was also stunned to realize that most those little aches and pains hadn't been 'growing' pains as everyone had always assured him. They'd been where his back was 'out of place' and was protesting because it was pressing on nerves. He showed him every place that a 'subluxation' had occurred. And he even pointed with his pen, exactly where he was hurting at the moment. It was easy to see the bulge. The doctor had light lines drawn across every vertebra that was out of alignment and most of them were slightly off center. It had just taken that final straw to metaphorically 'break the camel's back'. It wasn't actually broken, no. But damn if it hadn't hurt like it was.

He was to come in two to three times a week, for months. Therapy. He had to take a class on the proper way to sit, pick things up, and walk as well as sleep. Chase had rolled his eyes through most of it. Because it sounded like common sense. Stuff anyone should know.

But he had felt better... until the last day when he came in and the doctor informed him that while he'd made 'progress'... he still wanted to see him once a week for an unknown amount of time.

In that moment? Chase nearly wanted to cry, throw things, and had left the office feeling hollow. Going back to his dorm, one of his friends told him not to worry about it. Don't go back. The doctor was just wanting more money, that was all. Dragging out appointments and 'therapy' when it wasn't necessary. That made sense to Chase. So he never made another appointment.

At least, until the next time he felt something give in his back. And then, he'd gone back, feeling like a puppy with his tail between his legs to have another adjustment. But he'd still not gone back to 'therapy'. It seemed like such a waste of time to go if your back wasn't 'messed up' at the time.

He'd left the seminary and then went on to medical school. And he'd go for an adjustment, only when his back slipped out... and then? Then there were times he didn't go. Because sometimes, if you just waited a few days... it stopped hurting on its own.

In America, specifically New Jersey, he'd eventually found a new Chiropractor and kept the same kind of schedule. Using the services, only when he absolutely had to. Ignoring them when it was recommended that he go regularly and often. 'Therapy'. The word itself was irritating.

Despite the help it did provide, Chiropractic care was still a 'medical field' that didn't always get respect in the medical community. Some of the older doctors didn't even believe it worked at all. And in a lot of places, they still had a bad reputation. It was just... also a pain in the arse to go all the time!

And sometimes even after he'd gone, it would still hurt for a few days and go away on its own. 

Because of his experience, he was not one of the doctors that complained when patients didn't go to physical therapy like they should. He'd never made a comment when House didn't keep up with his PT past a certain period. Because he'd understood how annoying it felt when you realized you weren't getting better. That you weren't going to get any better. And all it seemed to do, was line the pockets of the one providing it.

He could just imagine the things Allison would say if she knew all that! She'd beg and plead with him to go to the appointments three times a week for the next three years! He'd never hear the end of it!

Just a few more days, and it would be fine! He was sure of it. It had always worked itself out eventually.

He hit the steering wheel with the palm of his hand, staring up at the apartment. Just another night or two of uninterrupted sleep. Break the cycle of pain... and it would be fine.

If she would have just left it alone, he wouldn't be sitting out here, contemplating walking into the lion's den.

But he was desperate now.

And with that thought, he opened the door of his car, and shoved himself out. Within minutes, he was knocking on House's door. 


	8. Chapter 8

He rapped on the door, leaning against it with his forehead and bracing himself with his other arm against the doorframe.

"Use your key!" He heard House holler from the other side.

Chase sighed, figuring that House was expecting him to be Wilson. So he pressed his mouth closer to the door and yelled. "I don't have one!" He mentally added the word 'git' in his head.

"Unless you're a hooker giving out free samples, go away!" House yelled, but it sounded closer to the door. Chase was about to start hammering on the door again when it flew open, making Chase lose his balance for a second. "It's Mini-Me!" House greeted. "Where's your cane?"

Chase gave him a sullen glare and counted all the ways this was a bad idea. He was on the tenth reason, when House stepped back and gestured for him to enter. "So... to what do I owe this displeasure? As I recall, you wanted nothing more to do with my department."

"You fired me. I think that is more than enough reason. And I'm not here because of the department or the hospital." Chase informed him as he crossed the room to lean against the back of the couch.

"So, does that mean you're here for my sparkling personality? You missed me? Oh I knew you would miss me!" He leered for a moment before limping to the couch and dropping down and putting his leg back up on the coffee table. "Get me a beer out of the fridge." He ordered without looking back at Chase.

Chase pressed his lips together in irritation and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he reminded himself why he was here. He moved stiffly to the fridge, got the beer and then returned, handing it to House before pointedly sitting down himself.

"Make yourself at home." House curled his lip and rolled his eyes back toward the television program.

There was silence for several minutes before House asked. "Is there a reason you're here? Or are you just here for the free cable and porn?"

"You're not watching porn. You're watching someone making furniture." Chase pointed out, sounding almost amused and a bit like he had in the old days when they worked together.

"Yet! Besides, maybe this is furniture porn. I think that table has the hots for that chair." He said seriously.

"Might as well give up on that. That chair is totally doing the desk. Look at the way it's underneath it... looks serious to me." He slouched down further on the couch, pushing his shoulders against the firm upholstery.

"Nothing like a sexy hot love triangle." House toasted the television. "So... why are you really here?"

Chase didn't look at him as he stared at the television. "I need a prescription."

"Mmmm... why should I?" House asked, seeming to consider it as he put his other foot on the coffee table and then cross them at the ankle.

"Because I have written you Vicodin scripts in the past, without lectures." Chase pointed out.

He seemed to think about that for a while and asked. "No one will prescribe for you, will they?"

"No." Chase knew there was no denying it. "I need my own Wilson, I suppose. Where can you order those? Is there an enabler catalog?"

"They don't make them like they used to." House shook his head. "I think I got the last one in stock."

"Figures." Chase sighed. "Look, I'm not addicted. I'm not even physically dependant on it. I'm just really tired. And I can't sleep because it hurts. Surely you know what that is like. If I can just get everything to relax, and stop hurting for a while. If I can just get some good quality sleep... this will stop soon."

"It's been what? Three and a half, four months?" House asked. "Is it all the time? Or is it coming and going? Sharp or dull?"

"I don't want to talk about..."

"I'm the last person you have. I'm the only one willing to write this script for you. You owe me at least this much." House told him.

Chase ground his teeth, pressing his lips together as he contemplated his answer. "Usually dull. Sometimes sharp depending on how much I've had to lift during the day. It's not all the time. Sometimes I can go a few days without feeling anything more than stiffness. The longer I stand, the worse it is. I can deal. Except I ended up pulling on a three hundred pound patient two days ago... and my neck is killing me." He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the television.

"How many do you think you need?" House asked.

"Just... just fifteen. The same amount I had before someone poured them out of my bottle to 'save' me from myself. I can make those stretch another two or three months!" He promised.

"I don't have my prescription pad here." House pointed out, putting first one leg down, and then the other.

Chase rubbed his eyes and wanted to groan, but instead he just made a 'hm' noise, getting ready to stand up. "I'll... come by your office tomorrow." He couldn't help the disappointed tone of voice, because it was going to be another sleepless night on a too soft motel bed.

"Sit your British ass down, and stay still." He ordered as he grabbed his cane and disappeared into another room.

"I'm Australian!" He yelled after the man, before muttered 'you bastard' under his breath. But even as he did, there was a hint of a smile there. It was a nice change from the last few days of everyone and their brother playing 'amateur therapist' to him.

House returned with a blanket, throwing it at Chase's head, and then held out one single white pill. "You're lucky I'm in such a sharing mood, as well as the fact that I have the Wilson to replace this later." He told him.

Chase looked at it for a moment and then took it out of the palm of his hand before House could change his mind. "What's with the blanket?"

"You're taking that and within about oh, thirty minutes you're not going to be able to drive. This isn't like your pansy ass Tylenol Three. You're taking a man's pain pill... but if you snore? I'm going to beat you with my cane. So lay on the couch and go to sleep. I'm going to bed. And if Wilson shows up, tell him he missed the hookers and the orgy... better luck next time!" His bedroom door slammed shut with a note of finality.

Chase considered the couch and then decided, he'd slept on worse. It was at least more firm than that damn motel mattress. He took the pill and then lay down, closing his eyes. 


	9. Chapter 9

There was something very satisfying about waking up from a drug induced sleep. The heaviness in your limbs. The way everything just feels numb and fuzzy. As though you're packed in cotton and been put away for the night. It was comforting and in an odd way, felt safe. Protected. Like nothing could touch you in those few minutes...

Except for the end of a cane poking you in your ribs.

Chase cracked an eye open, peeking up. House was standing behind the couch, looking down at him. He was about to poke him again when House saw he was awake. "Move it, or lose it, lazy bones."

He looked down at his watch and blinked rapidly. "Oh... bloody..." He started to hurry to sit up when he found the cane holding his shoulder down.

"Slowly." House glared down at him. "Roll onto your side, push up with your arms into a sitting position, and then lift yourself up with your legs. Otherwise, you're undoing any good you did during the night, you moron."

"I know how to sit up." Chase said, looking up at him. "I've been doing it since I was about five months old."

"And surprisingly, a five month old shows better sense than you do." House shot back, removing his cane. "I figure your mother dropped you on your head at some point, making you lose that sense."

As Chase went to turn on his side, he frowned as he realized that sometime during the night, one of the couch cushions had come to rest underneath his knees. He was just trying to work out how that could have happened when there was a knock on the door.

"Use your key!" House yelled from the kitchen, where Chase could smell coffee brewing.

Chase had just stood up when Wilson managed to get the door open and step inside. "Ah?" Wilson gave him a confused look, before glancing toward the kitchen.

"Where the hell were you last night?" House asked, thumping into the living room with his coffee. "I had that foursome all planned out, and when you didn't show up, I had to call Chase to take your place." He griped.

"I got... delayed." Wilson paused in what he was saying, and Chase had a feeling he was going to use the words 'tied up'. But that would have left the obvious comments for House to make. Sometimes, you just had to pick your words carefully around the older man.

"Likely story." House muttered as he rustled around his papers, seeming to be looking for something, and not finding it.

"Um, seriously... why...?" Wilson gestured vaguely toward Chase.

"I told you. We partied hard. We drug addicts have to stick together, you know." House said as he finally found the medical journal he had been looking for and shoved it into his backpack. "And you're driving us to work today." He informed Wilson. "What with the massive hangover we both have. Whoa you should have seen Double D Debbie. She sends her regards..." He looked over his shoulder at Wilson and then lumbered out the door.

Chase looked down at his own clothes and figured he would be changing into scrubs at one point, regardless, so it hardly mattered. He could also shower at the hospital. What was he thinking? Wait... "I have my own car here." He said as he stepped out into the sunlight.

"Yeahhhh... think again." House nodded, pointing to where said car should have been with his cane.

"What the hell!" Chase's eyes widened as he saw the empty spot where the car had been. "Where is it?"

Wilson frowned and looked across the street. "You parked in the tow-away zone?" He turned to look at Chase.

Chase groaned, covering his face. House meanwhile passed him and went to Wilson's car. "If we hurry, Wilson will buy us breakfast!" He prompted as he opened the door and got in.

Wilson gave House a long suffering look, but climbed in the driver's side and waited patiently for Chase to give in and climb into the backseat. 


	10. Chapter 10

"So, really, why did Chase spend the night?" Wilson asked as they waited in the drive thru for breakfast burritos, bad coffee, and hash browns. Chase had protested, but House threatened to just order for him, and then eat the food himself. So there was no point in not ordering at that point.

House fluttered his eyelashes at Wilson and asked. "Jealous?"

Wilson sighed and forked over the money to the woman in the drive thru window before turning to House. "You're not going to give me a straight answer?"

"So many things I could say to that, right about now." House pointed out with an evil grin. "But it would be too easy. Just like you!"

"Now, if I was that easy, you wouldn't be asking me if I was jealous and I'd not be playing 'impossible to get'." Wilson shot back.

"Lame." House shook his head. "Drink your coffee, and try again later."

Wilson sullenly munched his hash brown as he pulled back into traffic.

The rest of the trip was in somewhat silence, until they actually got to the hospital itself. "Let me and Chase out at the door. You, being able bodied, have to park in the boondocks. And I'm not going to hobble that far."

"How is this different from any other day?" Wilson muttered as he pulled up and waited for House to get out.

House opened the door to the back, gesturing for Chase to get out too. "Come on, Wonder Boy, walk me to my office." He commanded and left him to climb out on his own as he headed toward the hospital door. "Hurry though, I don't want Cuddy to see me arrive on time. She might get ideas."

Chase slid out and shut the door after thanking Wilson for the ride. Wilson, still confused, but agreeable said you're welcome and went to go park. "Are you going to tell him why I was really there?" Chase asked as they entered the elevator and started up to the floor Diagnostics was kept.

"Oh now, where is the fun in that?" House asked. "If you don't keep a Wilson guessing, they get bored and wander too far off." He instructed. "They start to think they know everything about you, and go off to make new friends. That's why they are in such short supply to begin with. I've considered one of those electric collars though."

"Does he realize you think of him as a pet?" Chase asked, leaning against the elevator wall.

"No. He thinks I think of him as a manservant. It's best he keeps some delusions." House explained as the door opened and let them out.

House ignored just about everyone they passed, including Foreman who had held a hand up in order to get their attention. Chase figured he was wondering why Chase was in House's company. But House didn't even turn to look at him before herding Chase in.

"Well, he'll be bothering me soon enough. Again." Chase said bitterly.

"He will, but he won't find anything of use." House shook his head. "Because..." He went into his office, and pulled out a file. He could see Foreman watching from the hallway, and then handed said file to Chase with a flourish. "As far as anyone is concerned, you're going to be operating on my patient. It has the virtue of being true, as well."

"I should have known there was a catch." Chase smiled at House.

"Of course! I have to get something out of this, right?" He made a pft sound and then went back out into the conference room where he gestured at the white board where the symptoms were still written, and then gestured at the file in Chase's hands. After a few minutes, discussing the case. Foreman nodded to himself and left the area. "He'll probably check to see what you've done today, but when he sees our names on the appropriate lines. He won't have anything he can actually take to your girlfriend and make stick."

"I broke up with her." Chase said quietly, still paging through the file.

"I'd heard something about that. She'll never leave you alone. You're nearly as damaged as I am, now! In her mind, at least. Personally? No one can quite measure up to me! I've cornered the market on this kind of thing. You're just a wannabe!" House said happily making a notation on the white board as he came up with a new idea. "Besides, you'll get to feeling better, and you'll take her back." He rolled his eyes. "You know it. She knows it. Right now, you're just... pissy."

Chase had smiled at the wannabe part. And he'd sat up straighter at the statement that he'd eventually feel better. But when he said that they'd get back together, he started to shake his head. "No." Chase denied. "Because, if she's this way with a simple backache? What the hell would she be like if I really did get sick or injured?"

"I can tell you, exactly what she would be like." House said, facing the white board as he took the pharmacy pad out of his jacket pocket, and wrote out the script. Chase gaped at him for a moment, realizing that House had to have had the damn thing the entire time. That bastard! But he snatched it up all the same as House handed it to him.

"I can tell you exactly." House repeated, giving him a serious look before turning back to the white board and shaking his head. And for a moment, Chase could almost hear the name 'Stacy' in the air.

"But... I'm not going to." House turned and went into his office, yelling over his shoulder. "Go dig around in my patient and see if you can find stuff that don't belong!"

Chase shoved the prescription in his pocket, after checking the dosage and went to go meet the patient. 


	11. Chapter 11

He was still filling out the paperwork on the patient post-surgery when Foreman showed up. He'd been expecting it, and that is why he was standing out in the open for the first time in the last couple of weeks. He'd not filled the script yet. Planning on waiting till the end of the afternoon, and after any confrontations. Besides, he didn't take them during the day. Only at bedtime.

"Saw you with House earlier." Foreman had one hand on his hip, pushing his lab coat back and the other arm laying on the counter at the nurses' station.

"Mm, yes." Chase said, making a notation for pain medicine should the patient require more. "He has, or rather had, a patient he suspected had swallowed something they shouldn't have. We went in and had a bit of a look-see. Found quite a few things that didn't belong." He smirked as he lifted a nearby vial filled with odds and ends, including a button. "Psych will have at them at this point."

"Soooo, that's the only reason you were with House?" Foreman asked with a leading voice.

Chase rolled his eyes. "What do you want me to tell you? That I'm dying from a rare and deadly cancer? That I have some kind of parasite wrapped around my spinal cord and causing personality changes? My eyes, glow at random times and my voice vibrates. Really cool." He said in a snide tone. "I'm the Goa'uld... pick an Egyptian god. I'll be one of those." He waved a hand and rolled his eyes again.

"Funny." Foreman huffed. "Seriously? You aren't having him... look into..." He waved his hand toward Chase.

"Nothing to look into. I promise. I'm already feeling better. I got a good night sleep. Until now, I was pretty relaxed. It's not a problem." He assured. "It was a small problem that she blew out of proportion, and I got irritated and it was just... ridiculous."

Foreman smiled a little and nodded. "Okay man. I'll believe you, for now. But now it's a matter of convincing her."

"She won't be convinced, and I'm tired of trying to convince her." Chase scoffed. "Seriously. It's over between her and I. And either she accepts that, or..." He wasn't even sure what the or was.

"You're going to let something like this end your relationship?" Foreman asked, partly in disbelief and partly because he was curious.

Chase was feeling the walls go back up, even as he started to speak. "I really don't think that's any of your business. Or anyone's. It feels like every time I turn around, I'm getting the third degree over my choices. You know? I blame House."

"House? Really?" Foreman was back to amused. "How is that?"

"Well, if he wasn't as he is, then when something normal happens like it is to me? People wouldn't automatically make assumptions about my agendas, intentions, and motivations." Chase paused. "You know, given enough time, we can blame all of life's little problems on him."

Foreman chuckled and shook his head. "Okay, I'll... see you... just." He didn't finish what he was going to say as he walked away.

Chase rubbed his jaw and went to deliver the file to House himself, taking the long way to avoid anyone else that might want to question him.

He was barely through the door when House told him. "About two minutes ago. I got a phone call from the pharmacy. Foreman was checking to see if you'd filled any scripts so far today. I paid someone off to tell me if anyone inquired about you." He tapped his cane against the floor.

Chase gaped at him before pressing his lips together in anger. "That bastard told me he believed me!"

"Yes, and considering you were probably lying? Can you really be that mad when he lied in return?" House asked in amusement.

"I haven't lied! I've told everyone the truth!" He threw his hands up after slamming the file down.

"No, you haven't." House said, sitting down and lifting his right leg up to be on top of the table. "You have been selectively truthful, while omitting the juicy meaty parts. Which, admittedly should be your choice and your right. But you forget. You have friends who..." He gave Chase a sappy and 'pathetic' look. "Care." He then rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair, putting his left leg up to join the first.

Chase stared at him. "You found my bloody file, didn't you? You bastard!"

"Now now... at least I'm not trying to say you have a brain tumor and going around hugging you, while stealing your blood!" House shook a finger at him. "All I did was go look at the tests you've already run, and then let you have your head and do what you want."

Chase glared as he sat down in another chair. "So what do you plan to do?"

"Do? What could I possibly do? More importantly? Why should I want to? You've said it yourself, many times. There's nothing more to do. Some things can't truly be fixed. You're still going to have nerve damage and scarring." House pointed out. "Only thing I'm curious about, is what set it off this time? Because that was definitely a new injury there. But unlike the others out there roaming the halls like a pack of rabid care bears? I don't care if you don't tell me." He added.

"Though..." He paused to look at the handle of his cane. "It is interesting that you hide how you may have gotten hurt. It was obviously something you didn't wish dear dear Allison to know about. Interesting..."

"And completely none of your business." Chase glared, arms crossing his chest. A sullen and petulant child suddenly. "And you said you don't 'care'. So it shouldn't bother you."

House shrugged and smiled, completely ignoring his words as he spun his cane in his hand, watching the handle. "I did a bit of reading, as I was curious. Eighty-two percent of injuries done to the spine are by males age sixteen through thirty. Thirty-six percent are from car accidents. Twenty-eight point nine percent are from violence. And twenty-one point two are from falls. The damage for the most part I saw, was old. I could tell that much. Now, the latest damage is in your lumbar region, as well as your thoracic area. That affects your legs and chest. Falls perfectly in line with your complaints about standing too long, as well as the fact that your favorite position these days is having your arms across your chest."

Chase merely continued to stare at him, not moving despite the fact that for a moment he almost put his arms down in an effort to be contrary.

"Now, if it was a MVA? Your neck would probably have been affected." He pointed out. "And while you state your neck hurts, I believe that is from the old damage. You have a great deal of issues in your neck region leading me to believe you've had a lot of whiplash over the years. Probably driving with friends or your mother."

A tightening around the eyes and lips was the only indication that Chase gave that House was right on that score. "But it is the other two places that are your true hot spots with the new pain. So... a fall? If it was a fall, you would have an excuse you could actually point out to Cameron and she'd baby you, and she wouldn't be prying and prodding, and making your life hell. And you've made it quite clear that you don't want anyone prying and finding out. But you don't act ashamed. Merely... irritated."

Chase raised his chin and turned his head stiffly away from House. "Nothing to be ashamed about. It's just none of anyone's business, is all."

"Which leaves... violence. You've been fighting, perhaps? And considering your pretty face isn't messed up. I'd say you probably won. But... still something you don't want to 'share' with your playmates." House reasoned. "Which can mean a lot of things really. That! That I haven't figured out."

Chase stood up, but managed a small smirk. "You should have seen the other guy." He snorted softly, moving toward the door. He gently shook his head, still vaguely amused as he neared the door.

"Not a fight then... interesting. And thinking about it, there would have been damage elsewhere besides those two points." House called out. "Chase?"

Chase paused at the door, but refused to look back at House. "If you wait an hour, Foreman will be gone for the day. Fill your script then."

Giving a barely perceptible nod, Chase walked through the door as House continued to inspect the handle of his cane.

"I do so love a good puzzle." Chase barely heard the words as he stepped into the hall. He paused and looked back at House, meeting his eyes and finding himself nearly challenging the older man. This was not the suffocating prodding he'd been receiving. This wasn't someone trying to 'save' him.

This, was a game to House.

Somehow, that wasn't as bad Chase decided as he walked back to the surgical floor. 


	12. Chapter 12

It took him most the day to try and narrow down what company may have towed his car. No one seemed to know who handled that area, or how much it was going to cost him to get his car back. By the time he had a good idea of where it might be, all the offices were closed.

To make matters worse, every time he tried to go to the pharmacy, someone he knew was staking it out waiting for him.

He tried to tell himself he wasn't being cowardly. He had a legal prescription after all. Signed by a doctor and everything! But seeing Dr. Cuddy, standing there watching him? Seeming to be waiting for him to head to the counter? He had a very bad feeling about it. So instead, he would smile, walk past and continue on as though he was just passing by on his way to somewhere else. And he didn't think it was his imagination when Cuddy would sigh in relief.

By the end of the evening, he was ready to start throwing things again.

He was going to have to call a cab.

He hated cabs.

"Ready to go?" House asked, leaning on his cane. Wilson was standing beside him, nervously playing with his keys and not looking at anyone in the room.

"What?" Chase frowned, realizing that probably wasn't the most intelligent reply. But he'd not been expecting them.

House signed the words and spoke slowly and loudly as he repeated himself. "Are you ready to go?" He said.

"How do you know I don't have my car back?" He challenged.

"Because it isn't in the parking lot." House explained as though to a particularly slow and dim witted child. "If it was, it would mean you had your car returned. Since it is not, and since the bus has already gone for the night. I'm going to go out on a limb and say either you're planning on catching a ride with someone, or you're going to call a cab. Wilson is for free. And we happen to be going in your direction. Now... move it." He prodded him in the backside with the end of his cane. "You know, I've considered installing a cattle prod at the end of one of my canes... what do you think?" He asked Wilson.

"I think I would see many more lawsuits in your future." Wilson said after a moment of contemplation.

"Pft... They'd only twitch for a few minutes." House wrinkled his nose and shut the light out as he passed the doorway.

"I think a cab would be much better..." Chase started.

"I think you don't have that script filled because our Mistress has been guarding the pharmacy all day. I think there is a better chance of you getting a pain pill to sleep with, if you come with us. See... I'm letting you borrow my Wilson." House explained.

"You're loaning me out now?" Wilson asked incredulous.

"You're the last of your kind. It's not fair if I hog you completely." House said, wide eyed innocence. "And Chase doesn't have his own enabler. It is my duty to share till he finds one."

"I'm not sure this is a good idea..." Wilson said under his breath.

"That's why I do the plotting. You're just the sidekick." House explained.

"Villains don't get sidekicks. And you're not a hero in this epic." Wilson pointed out as they rode down an elevator.

"Then you get to be my head minion. Which is much more fun." House said as the doors opened. "Now, go get the car, and Chase and I will meet you in front." He instructed.

Wilson pressed his lips together giving him a slight glare, but after a wordless grumble continued out the doors to do just that.

"See? I have him so well trained." House told Chase proudly.

"What do you think Cuddy is planning?" Chase waited beside House, watching the stars in the sky as he did so.

"Planning? Oh, world domination through the use of her feminine wiles... Oh, you mean about you?" House raised his brows and made a small mmm noise, pressing his lips together as he pretended to think. Closing one eye and tilting his head, still looking as though he were contemplating it, he said. "I can't be entirely sure, but she could ask for random drug testing. She could make it so you couldn't fill any prescriptions that are narcotics for yourself. She could even try to blackmail you into tests. Of course, that's just based on what she's done to me in the past. I can tell her you're not an addict? But you can see how she would believe me without question." He said in a mocking voice.

Chase wiped a hand down his face and gave a helpless laugh. "This is completely ridiculous and totally your fault!"

House was honestly surprised. "My fault? How the hell is this my fault? I didn't hurt you!"

"It's your fault because you've set such a bad example. Such a bad... standard... that-that now! Now! People automatically suspect the worst in any given situation. Particularly, if anyone has been around you for an extended amount of time!" Chase ranted. "This is completely your fault!"

House smiled a little, looking to the side and squinting. "Damn I'm good! I fuck things up for people, without having to do anything but be myself!" With that, he walked to the curb where Wilson had just pulled up.

"You bastard." Chase gave a helpless snort of laughter and climbed in the back. "It wasn't a compliment."

"One man's insult, is another man's compliment!" House pronounced as though giving sage advice. "Now... home, James!" He commanded.

"Don't you ever get tired of that?" Wilson sighed.

"Nope, never!" House assured.

Wilson nervously tapped the steering wheel as they spent the rest of the ride in silence. Chase wasn't sure why he was so nervous, but considering he was friends with House, he reasoned that there was always a reason to feel such. As they pulled up to the motel, he was surprised to see House get out as well. "I can walk myself to my room..."

"Yes, but I don't want to share my treats with you where anyone can see us. Tritter is gone, but not forgotten!" He reminded.

"I'll just... wait here." Wilson looked out the window, not meeting anyone's eyes.

House smiled. "Good boy. Be back soon!" He tapped the roof and stepped through the doors of the motel.

Chase didn't get further than the desk before one of the managers was stopping him. "Dr. Chase... sir." The man was agitated as well as nervous. "There you are! We did try to contact you..."

"Uh..." Chase frowned, patting his pockets down. "Whose phone is this then? I don't have any missed calls?" He held up the one he'd been using all day. Checking through the various sections of the menu.

House frowned. "Hey, that's my phone! See the scratch on the side? That's where that is! I've been looking for that." He snatched it back and shoved it into his own pocket.

"I... seem... I seem to have misplaced my phone?" His cell phone was missing? When did he grab House's?

"You missed check out time this morning. At eleven am? Usually you renew the night before... we would have held your room, but when we couldn't get through. I do apologize, but it is... you see there's a convention and..." The man's hands fluttered about while his assistant brought out a few bags containing all of Chase's things. "I'm very very sorry about this. But we had to give your room away. Housekeeping gathered everything, and of course you will wish to inspect the contents but..."

Chase rubbed his eyes and groaned. "I'm in Hell!" He stomped a foot and looked around. "I take it there are no more rooms?"

The manager gave him an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, sir. It's a rather large convention. You may have trouble finding a room tonight."

"Oh, that's fine. He can stay with me!" House volunteered. "You..." He pointed at the assistant. "Carry these to my car?"

The man looked at Chase and then back at House. "Come on, I'm a cripple. You expect me to help him?"

Chase was about to point out it was his stuff, not House's when the manager just nodded and the assistant gathered the bags following House out. Wilson popped the trunk as they approached and House had the assistant throw things in there.

Wilson offered no comments and asked no questions as they got back into the car. "Asssssssss I said... home, James!" House smirked.

"Yes, sir. Anything you say, sir." Wilson said in a bad British accent.

"You sound German." House critiqued.

Wilson gave a long suffering sigh and just continued to drive.

Parking in front of the apartment, Chase asked. "Dr. Wilson, can I borrow your cell phone?" House opened the door as Wilson carried the bags in, leaving them to the side. Then the man handed the phone to him, only once they were all inside.

Chase dialed his cell phone number, figuring he'd dropped it in the apartment somewhere. The phone rang and then... music started in House's bag. Narrowing his eyes, he let the phone ring again. More music from inside of House's bag.

"Houuuuuse..." Chase ground his teeth.

"Oh! That was your phone?" House said innocently. "Isn't that hilarious? You thought my phone was yours and yours mine? Hm, must not have heard it from my office earlier when they called. Oops." He opened his bag and handed the phone back to Chase.

"You are such a liar!" Chase snatched it back and saw that he had ten missed calls. "You bastard!"

"You keep saying that, like you're just discovering this." House shrugged. "Pizza?" He held up his own phone and looked at the take-out menu he kept for times like this.

He growled and rubbed his face, sitting down heavily on the couch while Wilson made his escape. House called out the door. "Coward!" Before shutting it and leaving the two men alone.

"Soooo what are your thoughts on sausage?" He asked, just before the restaurant answered.

Chase crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the television which was still turned off. House ordered regardless of the lack of answer. Happily puttering around the apartment before sitting down on the opposite end of the couch.

"Oh, cheer up. How long can a convention last?" He asked. "Besides, what kind of loser lives in a motel? At least Wilson went to an actual Hotel!" House put his feet up and flicked the television on.

"I'm looking for a new flat." He pointed out.

"Riiiiight." House nodded slowly.

They were silent as House turned on the television and watched some show he'd Tivo'd while at the hospital. "Do you know where my car is?" Chase asked, conversationally.

"Wherever tow trucks go when they're not stealing helpless cars in the middle of the night?" House offered.

"Uh huh... you wouldn't happen to know which company does the towing for across the street do you?" He tried again.

"Mmmm never paid attention." House wrinkled his nose and shook his head. "My car is parked in a garage, storage. As is my bike."

"Why haven't you been driving in?" Chase asked, keeping the same conversational tone.

"Too cold." He offered.

"I've seen you drive when there is snow on the ground." Chase pointed out.

"I like it when Wilson buys me breakfast. He won't do that, if I'm on my motorcycle." House explained.

Chase fell silent again, sucking his upper lip in and thinking before asking. "Did you have my car towed away?"

"Who me? Why would I do that?" House asked, raising a brow.

"I'm... not sure." Chase said, feeling a bit awkward. "But... funny how no one seems to know who is in charge of towing things in this area. And I've called a lot of areas today."

"You know how it is. Left hand doesn't know what the right hand is doing. Keeping terrible records. You can't blame everything on me." House pointed out.

"Oh, pretty sure I can." Chase closed his eyes. "You had my car towed away. You stole my cell phone. You let my motel room lapse. And now, you have me trapped here."

"You make me sound so manipulative!" House protested.

"Because you are!" Chase looked over, glaring.

"That's true." House sighed, nodding and turning to look over his shoulder as someone knocked on the door. "That's the pizza... go get it. Bad back or no, you still move quicker than I do."

Chase stiffly stood up and stomped over, only realizing as he did so, that... House hadn't handed him any money. He was tempted to put up a fuss and demand that House pay for it. Right now. Right here. But that would be far more awkward than he was wanting, and he was hungry at this point. He paid for the pizza, carried it back to the couch, and held it on his lap. Grabbing the two biggest slices before House could he said, "Mine. I paid for it."

"I can beat you with a stick." House held up his cane, and then grabbed the rest of the box, sliding it over. "Beer in the fridge."

"I'm not thirsty." Chase said, looking smug.

House latched onto the box and didn't move either, instead waiting for the pizza to cool, and watching Chase eat.

Chase found the flaw in his plan five minutes later. Now, he was thirsty. Very thirsty. "I hate you." Chase growled, slamming the fridge door as he fetched two beers, handing one to House and keeping one for himself.

Only at that point did House eat. "I can live with that." He assured, toasting him.

It was going to be a long night, Chase decided. 


	13. Chapter 13

Interlude 2:

House sat up on the bed, laptop on his left thigh as he surfed through the different pages. He could hear Chase in the other room, just beyond his door. Snoring softly. Despite threats to the contrary, he wasn't planning on beating him for snoring. Hell, Stacy had snored.

He clicked page after page, frowning through each one. "What did you do to yourself, you little idiot." He muttered to himself.

He paused on one of the pages and looked at it closer. He tapped his finger against the edge of his laptop. "I was wrong... it was a fall. But why are you hiding a fall? Were you some place you shouldn't have been? Doing something you shouldn't have been doing? Are you a naughty boy, Chase?" He asked himself in a whisper.

"What the hell did you do... and how am I going to talk you into doing more tests. That one test... " He took a deep breath and shut the laptop down. It was a challenge. He liked challenges. And if he just demanded them, Chase was at a point now where he'd just walk out. Damn the Care Bears! Making his job harder than it had to be. 


	14. Chapter 14

He wasn't woken by a cane to the side the next morning. Instead, he found himself waking slowly and more naturally. Somehow, the cushion had slipped under his legs again, and he squinted at it before shifting himself and sitting up. He could smell the coffee in the other room, and hear the soft rustle of newspapers being turned.

"It's Saturday." House informed him as he stepped into the tiny kitchen without looking up at him. "Only have to go in, if they call us. So be a good boy and shut off your phone and make us some breakfast."

"You expect me to cook us breakfast?" Chase frowned.

"If I did it, you'll be having peanut butter and bread." House pointed out, turning the newspaper over. "I had Wilson bring some groceries this morning while you were sleeping. So, we have actual food. Hop to it."

"You do know I don't work for you anymore, right?" Chase pointed out, searching around for pans and things to actually work with.

"The sooner everyone realizes they are here to serve me, the sooner things will run a lot smoother in the world." House said lightly. "I like my eggs over-easy."

"So... scrambled then. Gotcha!" Chase agreed easily.

House snorted softly and didn't seem to be doing anything other than reading the paper. That was fine with Chase.

Chase poured himself a cup of coffee, hoping that it would stop his hands from shaking as he surveyed the equipment he managed to find. He didn't really mind cooking, since it meant he got to eat too. It was just as easy to cook for two as it was one. He picked up an egg and broke it on the side of the pan. He pulled out the piece of broken shell out of the pan and shook his hands out, flexing his fingers.

Sometimes, it just felt like he had to wait for his engine to 'warm up' before he could really get going. Before the eggs were even half cooked, his hands had stopped shaking and all that was left was a small twitch in his thumb of his less dominant hand. Experience taught him that would settle down soon enough as well.

He hooked a chair with his foot and dragged it over, sitting down as he waited for the eggs to cook.

"Tired?" House asked, still staring at some article.

"A little." He reached up, rubbed the back of his neck and leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs by laying his ankle on his knee and playing with the spatula. His legs were tired, his mind was more than awake.

He stood up when it was time to move the eggs around a bit more to cook a bit more of the slimy white part. Then he slipped toast in, bracing himself against the counter as his legs felt weak. It passed, and then he went to sit down again.

"You sound like a bowl of rice crispies." House commented, sipping his coffee. "Every time you stand up. Snap, crackle, pop! I'm older than you, and I don't make that much noise."

"It's no big deal." Chase said darkly.

"Oil-can. Oil-can." House called out, his lips together.

"Wrong Oz." Chase said lightly.

"I could tell you to get lubed..." House offered with a smirk.

Chase turned and waved the spatula at him. "One of these days, you're going to say something like that..." He let it dangle.

"Promises promises." House said grandly, turning the page of the newspaper and refolding it, reading. "You're burning eggs."

Chase winced and scrubbed at the pan with the spatula. "Your eggs." He said as he put the plate in front of House.

House grabbed the ketchup and applied it liberally. "Ketchup covers a multitude of sins..."

"You could have cooked it yourself." Chase reminded him, putting his own eggs between the pieces of toast to eat, and sitting back down.

"No fun in that." House told him, eating the bloody looking eggs as though nothing was wrong. Despite the flecks of black. "So, what shall we do today?" He asked, chasing the food down with coffee.

"I'm looking for an apartment." Chase said, holding his hand out for the newspaper.

House handed it to him and then concentrated on his food as Chase flipped through the sections. "House? Where are the classifieds?"

"They're not there?" He asked, looking up in surprise, mouth still half full of food.

"Noooooo... they aren't. Where are they?" Chase used his best 'House is being an arse so I must be patient' voice.

"No idea. Maybe they forgot to give us a copy." He shrugged. "I should complain to the paperboy in the morning." He nodded, winked, and swallowed some more coffee. "Go take a shower. We'll bother real estate people today!" He offered. "I know just who to call..."

Chase had a very bad feeling about it. But he pushed himself to his feet, stopping by his bag to grab the advil and his clothes. He took two pills, praying they'd kick in before his back decided to key up again.

He was glad he looked carefully before relieving himself.

"What are you, twelve?" He called out the bathroom door as he shook the saran wrap he'd taken off the toilet.

"No. I just had a birthday. I'm thirteen!" House insisted, passing him and grinning, amused.

Chase slammed the bathroom door and locked it, to be sure, before climbing into the shower. He set the water as hot as he could stand, and then let it beat down on his back, holding on to the railing that House had installed due to his own leg.

He was enjoying the hot water, until abruptly. "HOUSE!" He practically leaped out of the shower, onto the mat, gasping. His legs collapsed underneath him, unprepared for his gymnastics.

House went to open the door, but it was locked. It only took a second to pop the lock and open it. "What happened?"

"You BASTARD!" He yelled, wet and naked on the floor. "It turned cold!"

"Oh... sorry... started the laundry." House said innocently. "I'm used to being here alone. Get up, you look like a... actually I think I saw a porn like this once. Your boobs are too small though..."

House didn't move, and Chase didn't either.

"You have nothing I haven't seen before... just smaller." House assured. "Do you want a towel?" He offered, reaching behind himself and throwing it at Chase.

Chase glared down at the floor, pulling the towel closer to his lap, but otherwise didn't move.

"Do you want to use my cane?" House offered. "Or should I just go ahead and hire a crane?"

"Get out." Chase said low in his throat.

"Get up."

"Get out."

"Get up."

"GET OUT!" Chase shouted.

"Make me." House said cheerfully.

"I hate you!" Chase hit his leg with his fist.

"I can live with that." He repeated what he'd already said before. "Now... either you get up, or you admit you can't, and we go from there."

"I would have been fine, if someone hadn't shocked me with cold water." Chase snarled.

"Actually, your legs haven't been wanting to hold you all morning. Your knees were shaking every time you had to stand in place longer for five minutes at a time. Your thumb twitched long after you were done cooking and didn't stop until you had eaten your breakfast and was coming in here. I'm sure it would have passed, eventually, as it has been. Mostly because when you walk, it helps a bit. To paraphrase an annoying emo song... I promise you're not okay. And the longer you go without doing something about it? The worse it is going to get. You need more tests." House sat on the toilet lid, resting his chin on the handle.

"I've had tests. You've seen them." Chase refused to look at him, still sullen.

"Yes, and you need additional ones."

"You saw something?" Chase asked with a slight frown, looking up at House.

House shrugged a little, bobbing his head from side to side. Chase could see that 'I know something' look in his eyes. And he felt his stomach drop. "I think whatever you did to yourself? You fucked yourself up pretty badly. Still haven't figured out the how or the why... were you being naughty?" He asked in the kind of voice a kindergarten teacher might use.

Chase closed his eyes. "I did not cheat on Cameron, if that is what you're thinking."

"Well, what I'm thinking is, our masochistic Aussie here wasn't getting what he needed from his girl... since she doesn't give pain... and so you got your needs met elsewhere. Only it got out of hand." House watched him as Chase methodically dried his hair.

Chase made a buzzer noise. "Wrong. But thank you for playing. See, you all decided that I had to be the masochist. I never said I was. You know what they say about the word 'assume'."

"You put up with me for three and a half years. I'd say that's pretty much the earmarks for a masochist." House smirked.

"Except... how often did I appear to be pained?" He asked. "Maybe, I was just admiring a master sadist? No. I'm not a masochist." He assured.

"Then how about you just tell me how you got hurt?" He asked.

"I. Fell." Chase gave him a smug grin.

"Can't be that simple. You wouldn't put up that much of a fuss, to hide that you fell down and went boom." House pointed out.

"I fell on some steps." He repeated.

"Now you're a liar." House gave him a level look.

"Doesn't make it any less true that I fell." Chase told him. "I fell down on some steps."

"Then it is the 'where' that you're hiding. Though you could have lied about 'where' you fell..." House pointed out.

Chase was clamming up.

"Cold yet?" House finally asked. "Can you get up at all? I'm not exactly equipped to pick people up off the floor. And I'm not sure how Wilson's new squeeze is going to feel about picking up naked guys."

"He's dating someone?"

"I think so... but it's a secret. Shhhh, I don't know." House rolled his eyes. "Now, up?"

Chase rolled onto his knees, using the bathtub for balance. After several false starts, he managed to get to his feet, but was stuck in a stooped position. He gave a helpless laugh. "I need a bell tower."

House didn't so much offer a hand, as his left elbow. Chase was forced to reach up for it, looping his wrist around to keep his balance as they carefully shuffled toward the bedroom. "Go on... roll onto the bed..." House instructed sounding incredibly put-upon. "Let's see what you've done to yourself now."

"See, by our figures, you've been hurting more than normal for four months." He said waiting as Chase managed to lay down on the bed, curled up on his side. "Spinal fractures usually heal up in a couple of months with treatment. Muscles and ligaments... a few to several weeks... By all accounts? This should be healed. Well, as healed as it'll ever get. It has gone on too long. You should just be dealing with a pain that has, yes increased, but has hit a plateau! You've dealt with this for years. You know how it works. It gets better, it acts up, it hurts. No one believes you, so you stop talking about it. But, you deal. Annoying? Yes! The new injury has made the old ones worse and you're pretty screwed when it comes to having a painless life now. But that's been true for years as well. You hide it very well. Kudos on the stoic behavior for the most part. But this is beyond what should be at this point. It is getting worse. I've been watching!" He shook his head. "Can you lay on your stomach?"

"I'm rather surprised your hands stay steady during surgery." He remarked, grabbing an ankle and yanking it down when Chase was slow to move.

Chase howled in protest and pain. "Oh, you fucking bastard." He swore into the pillow.

House grabbed the other ankle and pulled it down. "So I think, we need a new MRI, new CT, and some new X-rays. I'd also like to start you on steroids. Reduce the swelling and really see what's going on in there." He said. Sitting on the side of the bed, he used his fingers to feel the other man's neck and then gently along the spine. He made a face occasionally, feeling a bulge where one should not be. With his other hand, he opened his cell phone and called Wilson anyway. "Wilson? Yes I don't care what you were doing. I have a problem here. Come over." He hung up.

Chase tried to protest but House slapped a hand on his bare arse. "Stop being a big baby. What are you going to do now? Run away? You can't even cross the floor. You're trapped. Like a fly in my web." House tried to sound menacing.

Chase groaned. He'd wanted to avoid all this.

"Do not tell Cameron or Foreman." He ordered.

"Wow, you're awful bossy for someone trapped naked on my bed." House pointed out.

"Do not tell them." He repeated.

"Tell me why." House demanded.

"Because Foreman is a know-it-all bastard that will give me that 'I told you so' look. And because... I did lie to Cameron. And... as well as... she'd... we'd... I fucked up our relationship. I admit that. I could have been honest. I could have come clean. But even so, the mothering... and the guilt... and the..." He hit the pillow with his fist. "I screwed up. But I don't want to deal with it all... and I would have been just fine, damn it. If you hadn't made me fall again!" He yelled.

"We need to have another look, you moron!" He yelled back. "I don't care if you cheated on Cameron. Hell, Wilson is the nicest guy I know, and he ruined his first two marriages by cheating on his wives... Uh, you didn't hear that from me." He added with a shifty look.

"I didn't cheat, exactly. I didn't sleep with anyone." Chase corrected. "But I was where I shouldn't have been. And I lied to her as to where I really was. Where I go on certain nights. It... snowballed from there."

"You two aren't together anymore. What does it matter at this point?" House argued. When Chase didn't answer, he rolled his eyes. "You know, I bet no one realizes exactly how much stubborn pride you really have?"

"What little reputation I have, would be ruined if people poked too deeply." Chase ground out.

"Oh come onnnnn..." House laughed. "Everyone knows about me and 'hookers'..."

"Except, no one takes it too seriously because you joke about it all the time." Chase argued back. "My reputation hasn't quite made a come back since I revealed two tiny details from my past. It's been all over the hospital! I still get snickers or weird looks! Years later!"

"That you dated that chick that liked to be burned and you recognized the dominatrix?" House asked.

"See, you didn't even have to think about it hard to remember!" Chase yelled, turning his head stiffly to the side.

"Yeah, but I remember everything." House snorted. He paused. "You... oh you are a naughty naughty boy..." He leered.

"I didn't have sex... and I'm not a masochist!" He lifted a finger at him and glared.

"What did you doooooo?" House was enjoying this, grinning and rubbing his hands together as though he was about to get the best gift in the entire world. Christmas came early for Doctor House!

Chase groaned into the pillow.

"Come on. I promise. I won't tell anyone." He held up a hand. "Just like I'd never tell anyone that Wilson peed on my couch once!" He grinned. "You didn't hear that either."

Chase wondered how hard it would be to commit suicide by simply rolling off the bed and aiming for his neck. No that wouldn't work. He might as well live for now. And considering everything he'd said so far, he figured that if he didn't tell. The story that House made up would be worse than the truth.

"Annette contacted me." He groaned, burying his head in the pillow.

House's face lit up like a light, grinning from ear to ear. "Tell tell tell..." He clapped.

"She has a new... pet..." He rolled his eyes. "One that likes things that can get out of control really fast. I'm not going to give you details, because there's certain trust issues involved. That's another thing. There's more than one person involved. Not just me!" He pointed out. "Anyway... I... helped set the scene up... and I was to be on hand in case things got out of control or there were injuries. It was a security measure. Safety."

"So how did you end up injured, Master Chase?" House asked, still enjoying the story despite the lack of official detail. "I still don't see why you wouldn't tell Cameron something. I mean come on. She's the one that said a threesome every few years would be a good way to spice up a relationship. Not to mention, you were just there to play medic!"

Chase covered his eyes with his hand. "You're like a ruddy elephant. You never forget anything. And trust me when I say Allison is not submissive. She's a top-from-the-bottom if there ever was one."

"I suspected she wielded the whip in your relationship! Spill... how did you get hurt?" He poked his side.

"I..." Chase rolled his eyes. "It got a bit out of control and he started to freak out. We tried to calm him, and he snapped the restraint and while he was out of it... he knocked me back into some of the equipment. The areas injured worse fell across the bars. He landed on me, hard... he'd been blindfolded... oh god, this is embarrassing. He was close to two hundred eighty pounds, and muscular. It was like something out of a comedy. It would have been funny, had it happened to anyone else. The guy apologized, a lot. Annette did as well... I told them it was all right. Even though I couldn't feel my legs for about two hours..." He admitted.

"You lost the feeling in your legs for two hours?" House asked, and then reached out and smacked him on the back of the head.

"Injured man here!" Chase protested.

"Idiot here!" House yelled back. "My god it isn't even that horrible of a story. You could have gotten hurt like that in the Clinic! You. Are. An. IDIOT!"

There was a knock on the door and House yelled. "Use your key!"

Wilson stepped into the bedroom a couple of minutes later and took a rapid step backward. "Whoa!" He put a hand over his eyes.

"Would you get in here!" House called to him in irritation. "Your sensitive virgin eyes will be just fine. He's laying on the fun bits. Which are apparently still out of order..." He pointed out.

Wilson edged back into the room and cleared his throat. "Really? I don't think you need an Oncologist. Perhaps Uro..."

House smacked his shin with the cane. "We don't need that, you idiot! I need help getting him dressed and snuck into the hospital. I also need a partner in crime!"

"He's gotten worse?" Wilson hurried over, now ignoring the nudity to check him closer.

"I wouldn't have, except someone forced the shower to only give cold water and I jumped and fell in the bathroom!" Chase bitched as House took Wilson's hand and placed it over where he'd found the bulge. Wilson pushed tenderly on his back. "Ow! Hey!"

"Hey, if that was enough to render him in this condition... then that means we need more tests and to look at it closer! I think the swelling from his initial injuries hid the problem. I think if we get him to the hospital and get some steroids in him, we can bring the swelling down... Find out what is going on." House explained.

"The swelling hid..." Wilson trailed off. "Could happen."

"Has happened." House corrected. "Now, help me cover his naughty parts, drag him to your car, sneak him into the hospital, hook him up to the IVs and then sneak him around to get tests." He continued, speaking in a hushed whisper, putting a finger to his lips.

"Why all the sneaking?" Wilson asked, taking on the same 'conspiratorial' whispering House did.

"Because it's more fun this way, and I'm bored." House said with a completely sincere and straight face. "You should humor me. Things just go easier."

Wilson sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. "I'm going to regret this... let me guess, we're hiding him in oncology?"

House just grinned.

"Oh, yeah... this is a bad idea." And yet, Wilson grabbed the clothes that House had fetched and started to help dress the younger man.

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	15. Chapter 15

Chase could no longer put anything off, or even deny it to himself. He'd always been rather good at self denial. And apparently in recent months he'd raised it to an art-form. But there was no way he could have predicted that at some point, he would be wearing a 'Gravedigger' cap, dark glasses, and one of House's old jackets that hadn't seen the light of day in several years.

Wilson pushed the wheelchair, entering from the visitor's entrance and then working their way around and up, using the elevators to the far side.

Once on the floor, House took over, wheeling him to a room that was empty while Wilson went to the nurse's station and made up a mock up chart for 'Max N. Ruby'. He'd given House a funny look, but House told him that he had a fondness for rabbits. Chase looked down and cleared his throat, not correcting the impression that House came up with the name.

When Wilson returned, he brought a hospital gown for Chase and helped him get into it. House took particular glee in inserting the IV. Then he offered to insert a catheter, but Chase drew his knees up and glared until Wilson assured him that he wouldn't let House actually do it.

House then pouted pathetically in an overly dramatic way, moaning 'awwww moooooom'.

"Yes, I'm so mean." Wilson agreed, writing up the orders for Mr. Ruby. "You know, the only way to avoid having the nurses come in, is if we head them off at the pass and do all the work ourselves."

"Hence why my Head Minion is here with me." House assured. "I'm going to get a sandwich. See you in a bit!" He waved.

"That..." Wilson shook his head and rolled his eyes.

"Bastard?" Chase offered helpfully. "It's what I've been calling him."

"Oh, that's his pet name." Wilson assured. "He thinks it is affectionate to call him that! You might as well be calling him snookums!" He left Chase alone while he left to get the medication, and to find out when the machines would be free for them to use.

With no one there, he leaned back against the bed which had been raised so he could sit up easily and grabbed the channel changer. He might as well settle in.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Wilson returned before House did. Hanging up the medications and starting them. "We're going to put you on IV pain meds while you're here. I do honestly believe you are in real pain. So it is no longer an issue." He assured. "The steroids will, as you know, shrink the swelling down and then we'll get a better look at things."

Chase nodded, silent as the other man spoke of things he knew and should have known. "Bet you think I'm an utter idiot." He said finally, staring blankly at the television. "House is probably finding it hilarious. No wonder he fired me. I can't even diagnose something wrong beyond the norm for my back."

Wilson was quiet for a second, checking the machine and the connections before he finally shoved his hands in his lab coat and looked back at Chase. "No. That isn't why he really fired you. He fired you, because you were 'done'. You were ready. There was nothing more you could learn."

"He had finally given up on me." Chase said bitterly.

"No. He felt you were ready. You didn't need him anymore." Wilson denied. "But he's not good at saying things like that. It's easier to push someone away, than to admit... things... sometimes. He's never been good with emotions. He got worse after Stacy and he split up the first time. But despite the things he says, he doesn't think you're a failure or an idiot."

Chase scoffed. "Yes, and that is why I'm laying here, hooked up to an IV machine waiting for you and him to save me because I'm too stupid to believe something is seriously wrong with me."

Wilson looked away and looked at the door contemplatively before once more turning back to Chase. "It took House three days to diagnose himself with muscle death. If he'd figured it out the first day? They could have removed the clot, he would have healed. He'd have had no serious injury and no pain. He'd still be walking, jogging, playing tennis, golf, and running up and down stairs. Instead, he didn't think clearly because at first he didn't want to think it was serious when his body gave him the first warning signs... and then he was in too much pain to think clearly at all. Three days. By then, the damage was done, and by all rights... his leg should have been amputated. He knows this, deep down. Trust me, Chase. He doesn't think you're an idiot for missing this, or wanting to disbelieve. He isn't that big of a hypocrite despite his reputation. This could have easily been exactly what you said. Only that one film gave House pause. And he's not even sure what it'll show once the swelling is down. He just has a 'feeling' though, that there is something there. And, I think we should give it a chance. Just in case."

With that, he patted Chase's knee and went to make rounds since he was already there for the duration and might as well visit his patients.

Chase frowned as he thought about what Wilson said, before closing his eyes and letting himself drift on a wave of pain medication.

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	16. Chapter 16

He smelled the sandwich first. It had a very distinctive smell. Probably from the saurkraut. He could never understand House's attraction to that particular sandwich. Ever. He couldn't even get it near his mouth before his nose revolted and made his hands put it back down.

But the soft noises of someone chewing let him know that the person eating it, no doubt House, was enjoying it.

Chase opened his eyes while House sipped his soda through the straw. His feet were propped up on the edge of Chase's bed. "Sleeping Beauty awakes." He pronounced.

"What time is it?" Chase asked, confused as he rubbed at his head. He saw that he was wearing a hospital wrist band at this point, and read that his name was Max N. Ruby. The rest of the information was correct, though. Unless one realized he was listed as a patient of Dr. James Wilson.

He supposed that was because Wilson had many patients compared to House's one or two a week schedule. It was easier to hide him in the paperwork through Wilson's department.

"It's about Six PM." House said, flipping through the stations, having commandeered the control while Chase slept.

He jerked slightly, suddenly more awake. Then regretted it as his back protested against the movement. "No way!"

"Way, duuuuude." House mocked in return. "You've slept all day. Exactly how much pain have you been in?" He frowned at this point, his brow wrinkling as he wiped his hands on a napkin.

Chase looked down and away. "I dunno... a bit."

"How much is a bit?" House asked. "You've been sleeping the sleep of the dead since we got you in here and on proper meds. How much quality sleep have you been getting the last few months?"

Giving a small shake of his head he finally admitted. "I'm not a good judge. I kept telling myself I was fine. I... convinced myself I was."

"Mind over matter. If you didn't mind, it didn't matter." House huffed. "Doctors make the worst patients."

"We've had you for a patient. You're a fine one to talk." Chase snorted. "By the second day you were out of your Ketamine coma, you had every nurse ready to walk out on strike."

"I'm talented that way." House said proudly. "I have them feeling like that even when I'm not the one in the bed. Anyway, tomorrow is Sunday. There won't be nearly as many needing the machines, and Wilson and I decided if you were sleeping that hard, you probably needed it worse than you needed us manhandling you. Besides, gives the steroids more time to shrink things down."

Chase rubbed beneath his eye and leaned further back on his bed, closing his eyes and resting.

It was quiet except for the soft murmur of the television playing in the background. He was almost asleep when he heard House ask. "So... did you like... wear leather or vinyl that night? I mean, you were helping to set the scene. Doesn't that mean you dressed up too, so you fit the scenery?"

He opened his eyes and gaped at House. Did he just ask that? Nooooo... he was hearing things!

House gave him a look that was both curious and innocent. "Just wondered." He shrugged, sucking on the end of his straw until it started making noises. House kept doing it far longer than he needed, probably to be annoying. Chase glared. House pulled the straw out and flicked water at him.

"I'm not going to answer that." Chase looked away from him and decided to try and focus on the television itself. If he didn't look. House wasn't there. Childish, yes. Did it work? No!

"Was it black at least?" House asked, using his left foot to jog the bed to get his attention.

"Could we not talk about this?" Chase hissed at him. He regretted telling House anything! The man would hold this over him till the day one of them died! And then, House would probably either haunt him, or follow him to Hell just to bring it up again! Dooooooomed.

"Well, you said you weren't ashamed at one point." House threw his garbage in the can next to the bed and sank lower into his chair. Clearly, he had no intention of leaving. Chase just knew that House was doing this for some ulterior reason. He was enjoying torturing him. Probably trying to make up for the lost time between firing Chase, and Chase coming to him for help. That was a lot of time to make up for. He could only hope that House would pace himself, or get bored.

"And... I'm not... but..." He found himself gesturing wildly with his hands, unsure of what to say. He wasn't ashamed of his actions that night. He had been there in the capacity of making sure no one got seriously hurt in an unpleasurable way. What he'd been guilty about, was finding that he couldn't bring himself to be honest to Allison! He wanted to keep that part of his life, to himself. He didn't want to share it with her. Of course, he didn't really want to tell House either! He forced them back down into his lap and asked. "Why do you want to know anyway?"

"I am forever trying to expand my base of knowledge." House said grandly. "I seek information to assuage my curiosity. Right now, I'm mostly curious as to whether or not you wear black leather or vinyl when you're Master Chase."

Chase rolled his eyes. His back was starting to act up with the movement he was doing and he found the small button that Wilson had left for him. Oh, angel of mercy! He was going to send Wilson a thank you card when all of this was over. No, better yet, one of those fruit baskets patients sent on occasion for helping them 'not die'. He groaned to hear House call him Master. "Don't call me that. It's too disturbing. It's putting images in my head that probably shouldn't be there."

"Master Robert. OH! Master Robbie!" House snapped his fingers, as though he got it.

He tried not to laugh, because it wasn't funny. Except he was nicely drugged at this point and it was kind of funny. "Oh, shut up. Don't call me that, unless you expect to get on your knees and pleeease me."

House at first had been slightly surprised, then laughed. "You ARE high. I don't get on my knees for anyone, really. I couldn't get back up again. Bad leg."

Chase gave him a wry smile and shrugged a shoulder. "I has a button." He said, holding it up and showing him. "I push it, and it gives me the good stuff."

House nodded sagely, and vaguely amused. There was, after all, a reason people liked morphine a bit too much eventually. "I'm very jealous. I just get pills. Wilson is a mean old man. He doesn't share the good drugs with me, unless I've been shot!"

"Nuh uh, he's a nice nice man." Chase laughed quietly. "My button and you can't have it." He held the button to his chest and knew he was being silly. But it was the first time in such a long time that he felt completely... relaxed and pain free. Like there was nothing to worry about. He could afford to be silly and playful. Even if it was with House.

"Luckily, you can only push the button once every few hours." House chuckled. "Enjoy it while you can. Trust me, Wilson is a meanie and as soon as he can? He'll start weaning you off that."

Chase chuckled, putting the button down and watched the television. It was much more enjoyable with medicine in his system. Spongebob Squarepants, almost made sense at this point! Unfortunately, he didn't notice or realize he was falling asleep. Nor did he realize or notice when House shut the volume down lower and lowered the head of the bed, and raised the legs so Chase could rest easier.

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	17. Chapter 17

The next time he opened his eyes, it was to the realization that it was morning and House was still beside the bed. But some time in the night, he'd conned someone into bringing a recliner down from maternity for him to sit and lay down in. House was quietly sleeping, his cane in his arms.

Chase sat up, being careful of his back and shoulders, intent on going to the bathroom when he felt a slight 'pull'. He raised the covers. "House! Damn it!"

"What? What?" House woke up suddenly, blinking and looking around. "What?"

"I said no catheter!" Chase scowled.

"You were sleeping like the dead yesterday! Besides, you didn't complain last night!" House rubbed his eyes and glared at him. "It was easier than having you pee yourself in your sleep and then trying to clean it up! You do realize we're not having nurses come in here right? We have it on file you have a 'private nurse'. And... Wilson ain't here! Now... go back to sleep. It's not even noon yet. It's Sunday. What's wrong with you? It's a day of 'rest'. So rest your eyelids. I'm still checking mine for holes..."

He turned over a little, snuggling back down into the recliner, and shifted his hug on his cane.

Chase was tempted to pull the catheter out, but one slight tug and he knew he didn't have the will to try it for real. But he wasn't ready to go to bed just yet. He'd already slept a great deal of time. And it was boring just sitting here. He missed his crossword puzzles.

He found the cord that led to the remote for the television and pulled on it. Slowly, he saw it come up over the edge of the recliner and then over the side. He tugged it back, reeling it in until it was on his own bed and he once more had control of the television.

It was pathetic that it felt like a win at this point. So much was leaving his control. He didn't like not having control over everything. He liked having things in his personal life, on his own terms. He'd not had much control as a child or teenager. So personal power did mean something to him. And perhaps that is why he had been so stubborn to begin with. He didn't want it to be something serious. He didn't want to lose control of the situation. And now? He was. Every hour saw him lose just that bit more and he had to depend on House and Wilson. But, if he had to trust anyone, it was telling to him, that he would trust House before he trusted Allison with his life and health. She still had certain moral objections that made her pause to ensure the survival of the patient. House would break all rules, to make sure he won. And when House won? That ultimately meant the patient won.

Making sure the volume was turned down, he flipped through the stations, not finding anything of use or interest other than the many religious programs for shut-ins. He still wasn't too sure how he felt about such things. Sometimes, he could almost believe again. And then sometimes, it is just so hard to keep faith. Hard to have faith in anything but that which he could see, touch, and feel for himself. He was still weighing his beliefs, even after all this time out of the seminary. He kept flipping and after a while found some cartoons, turning to them instead. That at least, wouldn't force him to think too hard.

It was during Rugrats that Wilson arrived. He paused and stared up at the television. A trace of a smile on his lips. "I've often thought that Angelica had House-like traits." As though to agree with him, the character started to yell 'you dumb babies!'

"And that would be why... change it to 'you stupid idiots' and you've just about got it. Include the entitlement issues and the desire for cookies, and we nearly nail it."

Chase chuckled and shook his head and nodded toward House. "He's checking his lids for holes, I don't think he's found any yet."

"Yes, he's very vigilant. Checks them many times a day."

Chase gave him a careful look, watching the older man sleeping. "I imagine he doesn't get a lot of good rest. It's hard to sleep if you're in pain. You shift in your sleep, and all of a sudden you're awake. Wake up enough times, doesn't matter if you spent six hours in bed. Between the pain draining you, and the waking up and going back to sleep? You might as well have only slept two hours if that. He's tired."

"Makes me feel guilty for waking him up. Well, I would, if it wasn't for the fact that he tends to wake me up too. Two o'clock in the morning. Hey, Wilson, want to watch wrestling and have pizza?"

"Misery loves company. It's more true than people realize. Both because you tend to take your bad mood out on others and drag them down, which I've always tried not to do. Or because when you only have pain as your companion, you really really want something to distract you. People do."

"How long have you been dealing?" Wilson asked, frowning at House.

"First time I remember hurting my back, I was thirteen, I think. Didn't hurt myself so bad I couldn't move until I was eighteen. First time I was treated by a Chiropractor and really felt that pain that makes you want to piss yourself and never move again. Discovered a lot of damage from the last five years there. So... From eighteen to... I'm thirty-two almost thirty-three now." He told him. "Nearly fifteen years of dealing with my back and neck acting up to where I needed treatments. I actually did go to the chiropractor after this happened. I felt worse after I left. So I didn't go back."

"I bet you felt worse. But he wouldn't have seen anything on that initial X-ray, I imagine. And, he uh... probably helped it shift a little." Wilson admitted.

"No medical science is perfect. Our treatments fail sometimes too." Chase said, trying to feel philosophical about it. "Most the time? It helped. This time, it couldn't."

Wilson nodded, but still gave him a sympathetic look.

Chase gave him a narrow look till he stopped and then the look became apologetic.

"There's nothing else for it. I need to wake him up. We have things to do." Wilson prodded House in the shoulder with a finger, trying to be gentle, at the same time as prepared to jump back in case House started swinging with his cane. "House? Houuuuuse... Greeeeg. Paging Dr. House..."

"I'm not taking the catheter out. I refuse to play with your penis unless I get something out of it too." House muttered, pushing at Wilson's hand, and turning his face deeper into the padded chair. His cane waved in Wilson's vague direction before he pulled it back into his arms, holding it between them against his chest.

Chase raised his brows, silently laughing before he snorted in amusement while Wilson gave him an incredulous look. "Sometimes, I can't tell if he doesn't know what he's saying, or if he's just trying to shock me. With him, you just never know."

He prodded House's shoulder again. "Up. We need to put Chase in the wheelchair and get his X-rays. The machines are free at the moment! We need to move pretty quick in case there's an accident or something."

House grumbled, but folded the chair up. "It's not noon yet." He complained. "Can't people get hurt or die at a decent hour?"

"Yes, it is sad that people don't plan these things well in advance so that they don't cause you an inconvenience. You'll survive without your beauty sleep... it won't help you anyway." Wilson huffed, wheeling the wheelchair closer to the bed.

"It's true. I'm so gorgeous now... anything more and people will be tackling me in the halls." House patted his balding head as he came to stand nearby, but not to help. He fully planned to make Wilson do all the work, as usual. He was just 'supervising'.

"Don't they already do that? Only with violence in mind?" Wilson asked, moving the foot rests out of the way.

"True. But I'm talking about ravishing me. If I'm not careful. I'll get so good-looking Cuddy will no longer be able to restrain herself. I'll have to get a bodyguard."

"Riiiiight." Wilson said carefully, clearly unimpressed. He moved the pole of the IV so that it was hung on the back of the wheelchair, and helped uncover Chase's legs before putting his arms under Chase's and letting Chase use him to pull up on, and then sit in the chair.

"You know, I could probably walk at this point." Chase assured. It just felt wrong somehow that he was a patient. He'd always been the one to do this kind of thing for someone else. It was uncomfortable and disconcerting. It felt strange and surreal. This shouldn't be happening. It was just supposed to be a backache! There was still a small part of him that hoped beyond hope that they'd do the tests and nothing would be there. Of course, that just meant he was even more screwed than he thought if that was the case. The pain was already increasing and his legs prone to moments of weakness. He supposed if there was something wrong, that could be fixed, that would be better... but then he'd have to really admit he was wrong all along. Man, it sucked either way. He really wanted to shut off his brain right now.

"Well, for now, you're riding. You know how this goes. We're not catering to your ego or pride at the risk of your health any longer." Wilson told him, covering his legs up with a folded blanket. "Here, hold this magazine up. It's not exactly a perfect disguise, but you'll catch less notice than if you were to wear a Gravedigger hat and glasses to the X-ray department."

Chase obediently raised the magazine as House leaned down and said. "See, told you he was a mean old man."

"I see what you mean." Chase grumbled from behind the magazine.

Wilson gave another one of his long suffering sighs looking toward the ceiling. "I'm only mean to you."

"So you say. But I think you just bury the bodies really well." House pronounced darkly.

They rode the patient elevator down to the appropriate floor and then took the many twists and turns along the way. Chase was trying not to pay too much attention to anything, keeping his eyes firmly focused on the magazine.

House made a noise as they heard 'click click click click'. It sounded like a small 'eek'. House whispered. "Runnnnn it's the devil woman! Go left, left, left! Bank left!"

"House! Wilson!" Cuddy called from behind them. "Wait a moment!"

Unable to escape, both men stopped at the same time. Chase pulled the magazine closer, and both men turned around and tried to stop her from getting any closer. For a moment, Chase considered putting his feet down and 'walking' his chair around the corner. But she'd probably notice that!

"One of the nurses said you both were here. On a Sunday?" Cuddy looked at them, clearly with distrust. He couldn't see her that well, only the reflection on the far wall. But he could tell she'd just crossed her arms. He ducked his head back down to the magazine.

"One of my patients had a turn for the worst." Wilson explained, while House shuffled to his side.

"I'm just here to gossip and get him to feed me." House put in, holding up a hand. "Why are you here today? Or do you have a lair under the hospital these days?"

"And I heard that someone saw you going up to the Oncology floor last night about five-thirty with a sandwich and a drink." She tilted her head more.

"You have spies everywhere, don't you?" House accused. "I plead the fifth. Also the fourth, sixth, and anything else that will confuse the issue." He swore. "That and... my television is broke. You do realize you have at least basic cable right?" He smiled. "There was a marathon on last night and I almost missed it!"

She gave him a narrow look, clearly not trusting anything he said. "Right. I don't know what you two are up to, but if it is anything that will make this hospital liable, I'm telling you right now to stop!"

"Us? Do something illegal or libel?" House pretended to be affronted. "I've never been so insulted in my life! Come on, James! Let's go! Your patient isn't going to die any slower waiting out here!" He sniffed and turned on the heel of his good leg and pushed the wheelchair as quickly as he could around the corner.

"I should..." Wilson pointed in their direction. "Patient... shouldn't... leave him alone with House."

With that Wilson all but ran after them.

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	18. Chapter 18

Interlude 3:

Cuddy narrowed her eyes and raised her chin. "Mmm hmmm..." She took her shoes off. Holding them in her hand. She followed at a much slower pace. They were up to something, and she knew it. What? She wasn't sure. She had a feeling though, that it involved the patient that House just ran off with.

All sorts of wild ideas flitted through her head. That they were trying to hide a dead body. Or that they were slipping a mobster through. Or perhaps even worse, someone that wasn't really registered for billing. Who knew what House would get up to without someone to put the breaks on him? And Wilson was his admitted 'Enabler'. Particularly, if Wilson felt bad or sorry for someone and thought he was helping.

It was probably someone that didn't have insurance and needed tests...

She hated to do it, but she had to know what House was up to!

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	19. Chapter 19

"Normally, this would be done standing up. But I'd rather you didn't right now." Wilson said, once more having Chase use him for a crutch to get up to lay down on a platform in the X-ray room. "I think we should treat this as though you were just... brought in out of an ambulance for the most part. Only I can't exactly sneak the portable X-ray machine out of the ER without Cameron noticing."

"We're pretending you've had a recent fall." House told him, watching as Wilson arranged Chase on the table.

"I have. Because of you and your childish pranks." Chase frowned. There was still a small corner of his mind that wanted to blame House, somehow. But he knew it wasn't really true.

"That wasn't a fall. That was a jump. Then your legs didn't hold you and you folded." House corrected.

"And how did you figure that out?" Chase asked.

"The way you were sitting on the floor. I was in the room too soon for you to have shifted position, not to mention at first you couldn't even move. You jumped, and your legs collapsed unable to hold you. Bet it would have also happened if you tried to lift something too heavy, or tried to catch something like a bag of potatoes." House leaned against the wall waiting for Wilson to place the films.

"You're not planning on testing that theory are you?" Wilson asked. "Because I'm pretty sure throwing fifty pound sacks of potatoes isn't AMA approved."

"Since when are any of my treatments and tests AMA approved?" House joked. "But no. I'm not planning on it. That would require me to actually buy potatoes." And damned if he was going shopping if he could help it.

"Just... don't move." Wilson patted Chase's leg again and put on his lead apron, heading back into the little room on the other side of a thick wall. House followed him into the hallway, leaving Chase alone.

He heard voices, including a female's and strained to hear what was said, only to find House shutting the door with a finger to his lips.

Chase turned his head straight again, and hoped they weren't actually found out. At least, not till he was sure he had to be found out. Confirmation first!

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	20. Chapter 20

Interlude 4:

"We have company." House's eye had caught movement at the end of the hallway, despite the woman trying to duck back around the corner. "Cuddy! You and the girls can't get enough of me?" He smiled. "Come on out."

She glared at him as she came around the corner, shoeless.

"Sneaking up on me? Oh, my... is this one of those weird fantasies?" He asked, speaking to her chest. "You have rope on you? You're going to jump me and tie me up? Have your wicked wicked way with me?" He waggled his brows at her, grinning.

"House. I want to know who is in there and what you're up to." She crossed her arms over her chest, not looking at all amused.

"I dunno." House shrugged. "It's Wilson's patient. I'm just here to be annoying and to provide commentary. Mooch a meal here and there, and generally be a pain in the ass! You know, the usual!"

"You're here on a Sunday, and were here last night. I don't believvvve you, House." Cuddy pronounced it carefully and dragged it out in a lazy drawl.

"I'm a picture of innocence." He put a hand to his cheat and and frowned. "It's Sunday... oh wait, you guys do the Saturday thing instead of the Sunday thing? Whatever. Never could keep it straight. Anyway... nothing is going on."

"Dr. Wilson. Who is your patient?" She turned on Wilson, who was generally more reasonable.

"Ahhhh... Mr. Ruby presented with elevated BP last night as well as severe pains in an area that was previously treated. There is a suspicious lump which could be felt with a physical exam. I want to get some films, then a MRI and CT before going in for a biopsy, due to the location. His prior films are from four months ago. I don't wish to inflict more damage than necessary." Wilson looked at the file and then closed it. "I have him on morphine for the pain which has been rated an eight at the height. And a four at the low. As well as saline and steroids to try and see if we can shrink some of the swelling."

"You know? You have a man in pain in there?" House pointed at the door. "Waiting to get his films done? Annnnd we're standing out here babbling as though he's a figment of our imagination. You saw him in the chair."

"For all I know, House. You could be pushing a corpse around and playing with the MRI again." Cuddy said in a helpless tone. "Or you found some... homeless person on the side of the road who interested you and now you're trying to diagnose him."

House rolled his eyes. "One time, and she never lets me forget..."

"It took two weeks to repair!" Cuddy yelled at him. "And your billings are horrible!"

"You can't put a price on humanity." He gave her a mock look of disbelief and disgust. "And you claim to be a doctor! Tsk!"

Wilson held up a hand. "I assure you that Mr. Ruby is a real live person. And he really is waiting for us to take his X-rays. We need to hurry to start treatment if this is serious." He put the right amount of desperation and impatience in his voice and Cuddy finally nodded.

"Fine, but I'm keeping an eye on you two." She warned, slipping her shoes back on and stalking down the corridor.

Wilson waited for her to turn the corner before asking in a low voice. "Having fun yet?"

"Definitely." House chuckled, and went into the tiny control booth.

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	21. Chapter 21

Chase tried not to move, but laying flat on his back without something under his legs was painful and he felt his eyes wanting to bulge and water. He forced himself to lay as still as possible. But a small tremor was starting to run through him toward the end.

It was a relief when House and Wilson returned finally and helped him move to his side for the other X-rays. "Where the hell were you?" He asked, closing his eyes so they couldn't see them water. It the kind of watering one got when they yawned and his eyes still felt slightly bulged.

He reached up and wiped them before Wilson moved his arms into the position he required. "We had to talk to Cuddy again."

"Don't worry, we got rid of her." House said, propping his cane on his shoulder as he leaned against the platform. "If this turns out to be nothing, no one will have to know. We just try to get you time off work, make you lay in bed a few days and just deal with the new pain level somehow. If it turns out you need surgery..." He let it dangle.

"You suspect I'm finally to a surgical point." Chase pressed his lips together.

"You were bound to reach that point at sometime, with the damage you already have to your back. You have a lot of nerve damage and scarring. Everything in there is weak. I'm honestly surprised you walked as upright as you did and didn't miss more days. Just proves you're a stubborn little ass."

Wilson had looked up in surprise at House and House shrugged. "I'll show you his old films later." He promised.

Wilson nodded and folded Chase's arms over his chest and bent his legs to make it a bit more comfortable. "Stay still. It won't be as long this time."

"Yeah if she comes back. We'll sedate her and throw her in a corner somewhere." House said walking out.

Wilson shook his head and smiled at Chase. "Not really. I'll just distract her while House takes the films."

They shut the door again, leaving Chase alone.

But they were back again soon enough and after about four more takes they finally put him back in the wheelchair. Well, rather said, Wilson did. House disappeared for a while as Wilson wheeled Chase toward the room where the CT machine was kept. He wasn't surprised when House appeared once more, holding a large envelope that he suspected held his films from the X-ray.

Wilson grimaced as he helped Chase lay on his side on the machine. "Chase, do you have any allergic reactions to iodine?"

Chase shook his head a little. "Any hope you're going to give it to me in a vein?"

Wilson winced and shook his head. "I'll be as careful as I can. I'm sorry."

House put the envelope in the control room and then lumbered up to the other side of the platform and leaned against it. "You didn't have the contrast last time." House said. "We're going to have it this time."

House put his arm around Chase's knees and pulled them up into a bended position, toward his chest. Earning a hiss of pain from Chase in the meantime. Chase put his chin down toward his chest and felt the heat in his eyes again.

"Chase, you have to stay still. I know it hurts. But I promise I will do this as fast as I can and as carefully as I can." Wilson stroked his shoulder and then patted it. He retreated and when he returned he was wearing the usual procedure scrubs and a mask with gloves. House hadn't changed, and kept his arm around Chase's knees, not letting them slide out of place.

Chase felt his back being cleaned and swabbed. He knew what was coming, but that didn't mean he had to like it. "Warn me." He asked, eyes closed.

"I'm just cleaning the area right now. But I'm getting ready to inject the local. Little sting." Wilson warned and Chase felt it over his lower back. "Somehow worse when you can't see what is going on." He muttered.

"It's the element of surprise." House said, watching from over Chase's shoulder. "Just keep your chin down. Hey, ever watched General Hospital?" He asked Chase suddenly.

"No." Chase didn't shake his head, but kept his eyes closed and chin down.

"You don't know what you're missing. Oh, did you hear about that weird board member that dates the transexuals?" He asked Chase.

Chase cracked an eye open. "The one with eleven fingers?"

"See, even Chase noticed." He chided Wilson.

"Anyway, he broke up with the nurse that used to be a man, and now he's found a pre-op that works in one of the mobile clinics." House gossiped, looking up to see Wilson reaching for the next needle. He tightened his grip on Chase's knees and warned. "He's getting ready to do the puncture... But I got a look at her? Him? Her? It? Anyway, she's totally hot. I hear he's going to pay for the operation..." As he spoke Wilson inserted the needle causing Chase to gasp and hiss. "Just a pressure. Just a pressure. Anyway think of the pain the new nurse will go through? They're going to cut his tallywhacker off, then turn it inside out and shove it up inside. This is nothing compared to that. You can't even tell once they're done that they didn't start out as women. Makes dating more of an adventure for those that aren't open minded... huh?"

"I think he's just in denial... or perhaps it is just a kink? Does that qualify as a kink?" House asked Chase.

"Could be." Chase ground out, trying not to feel the way the needle seemed to be trying to move up through his back. "Could be either... Met a man once... only dated... people he could convince to dye their hair purple. Could be he's... just attracted to a personality type?"

"I think it's a kink." House decided.

Chase's eyes watered as he felt a strange sensation spread. The dye.

"Almost over." Wilson assured. "One more second."

"You know, I almost had him convinced that Cuddy was post-op... but she produced a damn DNA test at the last moment showing off both her X chromosomes. Damn modern medicine!" House bitched.

"You just lay there, still and we're going into the control room... It's over." Wilson gently patted his arm and covered his back with his gown.

"You did a pressure test, right?" Chase asked, his eyes still closed.

"Yes..." Wilson said reluctantly.

"And?"

"Decreased pressure... but that could be from shock..." Wilson said quickly.

"But you doubt it." Chase cleared his throat, not wanting to open his eyes.

"I think you have a 'mild' obstruction." House finally told him when Wilson seemed reluctant. "I think you broke your back, and I think a shard of your vertebra has been irritating you ever since. I think that the swelling originally hid it, keeping it pressed in place. But with all the walking, moving, lifting, and... living... it has managed to become a real problem."

"Open your eyes." He prompted.

Chase opened them and found a small vial of fluid in front of them. From his spine. "Oh." He said softly.

It was a orangish color. "Increased protein." He sighed, not bothering to look at House.

"Caused by prior bleeding." House agreed. "Let's finish the tests, and try to keep you from injuring yourself further."

"I can't believe this." Chase groaned. "This is the most stupid thing to ever happen to me."

"Nah, you have your whole life ahead of you. You'll do lots more stupid stuff before you reach my age." House assured. "Now, stay still and don't move. Or I'll duct tape you in place."

"Bloody hell." Chase closed his eyes, feeling his face flush. He was actually rather embarrassed at this point. He broke something, the swelling had hidden it because he'd not gone all out for the CT. And now here he was... Fuck!

"Don't move!" He heard through a microphone.

He stayed as still as he could and waited for the machine to finish with him before they came back for him. "Fracture?" He asked, refusing to look at them.

"Yes." Wilson answered. "We're going to have to tell Cuddy. You're going to need surgery to remove the shard as well as to re-align some things. Chase, you're lucky you've not done yourself more damage."

They still did the MRI, despite the findings they found so far. "You have some compression on the spinal cord at this point." Was what Wilson told him once they had him out of the machine.

Wilson at this point was treating Chase as though he were made of glass. Afraid to make him move. House on the other hand seemed to be quieter. Thoughtful. But he did point out. "He's survived so far. Which makes me question whether or not there's something to this 'God' thing. Maybe it only watches out for idiots of his ilk. But he'll live. He'll even walk once this is all over. But considering he's waited so damn long, he might not always enjoy it." With that he went ahead of them. "Take him to his room, and contact the surgeon. I'm talking to Cuddy."

Chase watched as House stalked almost angrily away. "He knew what we would find." He said, tired and sore and rung out. He was looking forward to the morphine which was waiting for him in his room. They'd only kept him on the saline and steroids while testing. He desperately wanted the morphine back on.

"Yes. He did. Well, suspected. But, Chase? Even he hopes he's wrong sometimes." Wilson explained. Chase didn't bother to hide behind the magazine this time. Disappointed and too tired to care considering it would probably be all over the hospital by tomorrow.

The rest of the trip upstairs was made in silence, and he could see some of the nurses take a second look at him in surprise. Wilson pushed him into his room, and hooked the morphine back into his line, and pushed the button for him.

There was comfort in the feeling as he felt his eyes grow heavier. He felt like he'd been worked over with a baseball bat, and he just wanted to fall asleep and not wake up until all of this was over.

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	22. Chapter 22

Interlude 5

He found Cuddy in her office, and she didn't seem too surprised to see House storm into her office. But when he paced for a few minutes, in a manner that could only be called irritated or annoyed she finally asked. "So... going to tell me the truth yet?"

"Oh, now where is the fun in that?" He asked sourly.

"Who is your patient, really? You can't expect me to believe his name is Max N. Ruby." She said, holding up a thin folder with the name on it.

"We need to keep this quiet. For the patient. He doesn't want people poking their noses in his business and... overly mothering him, or bothering him. I've had enough trouble getting his skinny ass in here." He finally sat down and started tapping his cane, still in agitation.

"Who would be sticking their noses in?" Cuddy asked. "You're not doing anything illegal are you? Treating a teen without consent? What is going on?"

"Cameron and Foreman. They would stick their noses in. The patient is Chase. Four months ago, he fell, and he tried to cover it up because he's a stubborn idiot."

"Wow, who does that sound like?" She dead-panned.

"He's private." House rolled his eyes and said it in a mocking way. "I make my business everyone's."

"No, you don't." She denied. "You make exaggerated jokes, hiding things in plain sight until you can't do it anymore and need help. Why did he cover it up?"

"Partly he was embarrassed. Partly because he was hanging out with people that he didn't want Cameron to meet. Partly because the jack-ass thought it was no big deal and that it would go away, like it has in the past." House rattled off. "Doctors go in one of two ways, a lot of times. Either we become hypochondriacs who think we're ill with every little ache. Or, we've seen too often how something is 'nothing', like a sniffle is just a cold, go home... and then we ignore it, till it becomes multi-system failure."

"Yeah, that doesn't sound like annnnyone I know." Cuddy once more smirked. "So... what's going on? You're here. And you're telling me a version of the truth. So, something must now be beyond your control. And we know how you hate for that to happen."

"I knew something was... there. I just." He broke off and laid his chin on the handle of his cane as he thought carefully of how he would say this. "It's worse than I thought."

She frowned, sitting up straighter. "Tumor?"

He shook his head. "No. The little idiot broke something. Fracture." He sneered. "There's a fragment that is causing all sorts of hell, it's a miracle he's not..."

Cuddy leaned forward eyes wide and interrupted. "He broke it? He's really in pain? Have you called a surgeon?" She asked quickly.

"Wilson is calling the surgeon. So you really were staking out the pharmacy?" He asked.

"Cameron told me she had concerns." Cuddy admitted carefully.

"I had given him a script for Tylenol Three. He has a surprisingly high pain threshold." He didn't want to admit that it is was possible that he actually might have a higher threshold than had originally estimated. After all, the boy had taken a punch and still managed to make his point. But honestly, there was no real way of measuring such a thing. One man's rating of eight was another man's rating of four. That was part of the problem with dealing with chronic pain and pain in general. How to tell when someone is feeling the pain a bit 'more' than someone else, and who is feigning it.

She covered the side of her face with her hand. "Oh, god... how did you get him back in for tests? Everyone's been trying to get him in for more tests. They've not been able to even talk to him."

"Hard not to talk to someone you're sharing an apartment with." House pointed out.

"He's living with you?" She gaped. "How... what?"

House spun his cane in his hands and looked up at the ceiling. "Well... he came over to score a script or at least a pain pill. I made him stay, after giving him a Vicodin. Telling him I didn't have the pad with me. Once he was asleep. I swiped his keycard, switched his cell phone for mine. And then called the tow company and anonymously reported his car was in the tow-away zone." As he spoke her eyes got larger and larger. "Then called Wilson and told him I needed a ride into work... Once we were at work, I had Wilson go to the motel and bag up all of Chase's things and then turn in Chase's keycard. Then I hired Wilson's brother Matt and his son Elijah to play the part of a manager and his assistant. He called Chase's phone a few times, leaving messages about how he had to give his room away unless he called back 'right away'... Then Wilson and I took him back to the motel. Matt and Elijah played their parts... And I offered to 'let' Chase stay with me till he got a new apartment... so I could observe him. I also hid the classifieds..." He remembered.

"I clearly should thank God that you're on 'our side'. And not working for some... evil organization." Cuddy said faintly.

"I'm on my own side." House corrected.

"So you... observed things and told him?"

"Not really. I... took all the hot water while he was showering by starting my laundry... I figured it would just irritate him, and he'd yell or something. I'd originally planned to drag him around with Bonnie Wilson all day, wearing him out until he had to admit he 'couldn't keep up anymore'. But then the idiot tried to jump out of the tub to get away from the icy water, and instead ended up collapsing on the floor yesterday. He had no choice at that point. I called Wilson and we snuck him into Oncology."

"And you ran the tests today... and it was worse than you suspected." She finished up as he nodded.

"I suspected that there was a fragment that was originally hidden by the fact that he'd not had steroids or a contrast injected by an LP. But there is a lot of damage in there." He shook his head. "We've not shown him the actual films, but he's going to need surgery, and actual Physical Therapy rather than chiropractic. One or two of the disks might have to be removed. And he's going to always have some form of pain. Worse than he has in the past. I think his days of standing for five to six hours are over for good. But he should walk so..."

She pressed her hands together, almost as though in prayer and held them to her face. "And he doesn't want it to get out? But everyone is going to realize..."

"I know. You need to let it be known he doesn't want visitors. And that people are to keep the confidentiality. He's a patient. He is entitled to privacy. He has control issues. And not a word about me. His issues are his issues. Mine are unconnected." House leaned back in his seat and clicked his tongue. "And he's going to be very unhappy in general. He doesn't want to see any of the 'I told you so' looks." He warned. "Nor do I think he wants anyone to be overly sympathetic or give him pity."

"Wow. Are you sure you didn't turn him into a mini-you?" Cuddy smiled a little

House shook his head. "No... he's always felt that way." He stood up, using his cane to push himself into a standing position. "The boy was damaged long before I got him... Just he wears his scars inside. Mine are visible. Pain with marks are easier for you all to see than the ones that are hidden."

She had the grace to look a bit guilty and flinched.

"I'm going back up. I don't want to miss my television programs." He said, leaving the office.

She waited till he was out of the room before smiling a sad smile. He'd never admit that he cared. But to go through all that? She was sure he did... at least one some level. He probably didn't even realize it himself.

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	23. Chapter 23

It was dark when he opened his eyes next. The lights had been turned down, leaving only one on low over his bed to make it easier for nurses to see the patient without disturbing them. He figured since the cat was out of the bag now, Wilson had probably decided to let the nurses do things for him. One was checking his catheter bag. He closed his eyes again, before she could stand up. He feigned sleep, as she checked all his IV connections. She seemed to be taking quite a while, though...

"Would you hurry up? People are trying to sleep here." He heard a sleep roughened voice bitch.

House?

"I'm sorry, sir. I was just..." She quickly finished and left without further puttering about.

"Damnnursesmolestingpatientsintheirsleep." House muttered and seemed to trail off back into sleep.

He waited a few minutes and then opened his eyes again, peeking over at the recliner. They'd let him stay on the Oncology floor so far. House was wearing different clothes, and even different sneakers this time. But he still had his cane in his arms, snoring softly in the dim light.

Chase had an impulse to throw something at him. It was one he didn't follow through, and he knew it was childish. So he quickly put it out of his mind. Instead, he tested his limits silently. Flex here. Flex there... Ow. Damn. No, the problem did not magically go away.

He lay still and sighed.

It was the middle of the night, and he was bored. And awake. He thought about pushing the morphine button, but he honestly didn't want to start that as a 'habit'. He'd only push it if it hurt too much.

He found the thick white cord that was attached to his television remote after raising the head of the bed. The remote incidentally was where one of the nurse call buttons was, so it was funny that House kept it when Chase was the patient. He tugged on it, and sure enough, it appeared slowly over the side of the recliner. He rolled his eyes wondering if House was here mostly because the Maternity department's recliners were the most comfortable, and he had access to a cafeteria as well as the television.

He reeled the remote in, feeling like he'd just landed a large fish and turned it around so that he could turn the television on and then flipped through, trying to find anything on, at all.

Flip flip flip flip... he'd gone through every channel and ended back at the beginning.

"Turn it to the menu... it scrolls." House instructed sleepily. "Easier and quieter."

Chase jumped a little at the voice and winced. "Sorry, had it turned down." He swore.

"Nurse woke you up earlier?" He grumbled at the room in general and then looked up at the television. "Give me that thing, idiot. You don't know how to properly work it."

He snatched it out of Chase's hands and then leaned back, rapidly flipping to channel 'two', and letting it roll through the 'now playing' list with the times that all the shows were on.

Seeing something at least halfway interesting, he flipped to Nick-At-Nite. Old shows. Chase barely remembered watching some of the shows when he was a small kid. It was startling to realize he was now entering the age group that people called the music of his youth 'oldies'. Now, that was depressing.

They sat in silence until Chase finally admitted. "I'm hungry."

"Can't eat. Surgery in the morning." House shook his head.

"This sucks." Chase pronounced.

"Pretty much." House agreed. "But Cuddy has you listed as 'no visitors'."

"You're here." Chase pointed out.

"I don't count. I'm visiting the chair and the television. It has a right to see me. It just happens to share a room with you." He said, nodding sagely. "Besides. I carry a stick and can run people out when they try to sneak in."

"Like night time patient molesting nurses?" Chase asked.

"Especially them. She was getting drool on your IV." House tsked quietly. "If I hadn't run her off, she may have kidnaped you and had you halfway to the altar before we noticed you were missing. After all, isn't like you can runaway."

He snorted in amusement. "She's not the one I'm worried about."

"There's that too. I look for Cameron to sneak in sometime around Five in the morning." House admitted. "She'll want to hold your hand."

Chase winced and looked back up at the television.

"It's the perfect time to get back together." House pointed out. "She'll feel guilty enough about denying you pain relief, that the vindication that she was right that you were hurt worse than you let on will fall to the wayside for a bit. Guilt-sex can be a lot of fun... well once you can, that is."

Chase rolled his eyes. "If I can. It hasn't worked in a while." He mumbled it under his breath. Louder he said. "Not interested."

"So you really don't want to get back with her?" House asked.

"No. You didn't take Stacy back..." He said quietly.

"Stacy left me first." He pointed out, looking up at the television. "She would have left me again. Cameron didn't leave you. In fact, she wasn't wanting to let you alone, period."

"For now, until we discovered what is wrong and she eventually discovered I wasn't going to die, or get completely better. And if I end up having damaged certain nerves permanently? She would get bored eventually." He predicted. "It wouldn't be enough for her."

"There's other ways to keep that kind of relationship going." House rolled his eyes.

"You said it yourself once. It's always about sex." Chase crossed his arms over his chest and sighed. "Besides, she has more to her 'pathology' than wanting damaged people. She also wants relationships she knows will end somehow, through no direct fault of her own. She is attracted to people that will leave her."

"Her husband died. Her husband's friend that she told me once she was attracted to? She never did anything with, but the 'romance' was still there. He disappeared after her husband died. She knew deep down that you would never accept her. That you would reject her, and that it wouldn't be 'her' fault. You're just a bitter misanthrope, after all. Me? Until I said I wanted 'more', she only wanted a series of what was basically sex for sex sake. When I said I wanted 'more', she ran. Commitment scares her. She finally gave me that commitment, but I think in the back of her mind... she knew eventually, something would cause me to be the one to run. And I think I knew it too. I want a commitment, but it scares me on some level too. And when she started the... overbearing caring crap..."

"It was your excuse to run, so you weren't the one totally at fault. You got what you thought you wanted, but come to find out, it wasn't what you really wanted. You want an ideal. Equal partners with the ability to renegotiate your terms at will. You're afraid of the kind of commitment she was starting to grasp and build, because of your mother and father." House diagnosed. "You're just not sure yet who you'll turn out more like. Your mother or father. Will you be the one to become totally dependant on your mate, till all things about you become only about them? The 'submissive'... Which is why you are scared to depend on anyone for anything, including 'love' and 'caring' when you're hurt or injured. Afraid you will come to need it. Or will you be the one that will turn Cameron into your mother, like your father, eventually leaving when you tire of it. Breaking her, damaging her, and driving her to the despair your father turned your mother to?"

"Cameron is stronger than that." Chase said faintly.

"Maybe. Maybe not. But if you married, had a kid, and tried to have the white picket fence, you would eventually end up chafing and wanting 'out'. You don't have faith. Not only in your own religion, but in yourself. You don't have faith in your ability to make a life long commitment." House twisted his cane in his hand, still watching the television. "Better to run now, before you're in that deep..."

Chase was silent for a long time after that, watching the television despite not really seeing what was on it. He suspected that the reason House spoke as much as he had, and at such length was that he had been woken up and hadn't gotten his 'armor' in place yet. But it had got him to thinking about it all, despite not wanting to. What were the reasons underneath the reasons? "So you advise me to run before I'm in too deep?"

House was quiet and then said. "Not particularly. But I just think you've already made your decision. You just have your way out now. I think if you are trying this hard to run? Do it now. Don't lead her further down the path."

"Well... I already told her it is over. So that's out of the way." He rubbed his head, feeling a headache and his shoulders hurt.

He lowered his bed down, and pushed the morphine button. Maybe it was a coward's way out of the conversation. But he'd take it. Pain was a good excuse, sometimes.

His eyes felt heavy, and he drifted off to the sounds of the Jeffersons.

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	24. Chapter 24

The sound of arguing roused him before he was ready to wake up. But the sound of House yelling 'Cripple abuse. Cripple ABUSE!' from the corridor was enough to wake the dead.

"I'm not abusing you... no, wait, he's just... This isn't what it looks like..."

"House? What are you doing?" Chase heard Wilson join the fray. "Why are you on the floor?"

"She's abusing me." House said plaintively. "Isn't there laws against that? Isn't that called assault? Hey, I was once charged for assault just for saving someone's life! The least I can do is scream assault if she pushes me!"

"I didn't... push you." Cameron sputtered. "He's lying!"

"Did too! I got witnesses and everything!" House was enjoying himself way too much by Chase's estimation. Was that giggling? Children giggling.

"See, my posse will verify for me!" House said. "Baldies unite! I'm only an honorary member! I've not lost enough."

More giggles.

"Okay... let's just everyone calm down." Wilson, the voice of reason as usual, spoke up from the hall. "What happened? House, not you. Cameron goes first."

"I came into work this morning, and one of the nurses told me that Chase was admitted into the hospital last night and was in the Oncology ward. I also heard he was scheduled for surgery. I wanted to see if I could talk to him. When I opened the door, House was standing there, and he told me no visitors and then shut it again. So... I opened it again to ask House about it." Cameron was telling her side, and for a moment Chase felt guilty hearing the hurt in her voice.

"Well, shhhhhe was about to wake the patient up, so I came out, and shut the door, again. And she tried to push past me. I'm crippled! I only have one working leg! She knocked me over!" House 'whined'. Of course, no one would be stupid enough to buy into it.

"Oh, you let yourself fall! I just stepped closer." Cameron said waspishly. Somehow, Chase imagined all she did was come 'near' him, and he threw himself on the floor for the attention it would draw.

"I couldn't have let myself fall, if you hadn't pushed me!" House pointed out logically. Well, House logic. "You're a bad bad woman. Children, take note. She doesn't even give out lollies. I should know. She refused to give me one last week!"

"Those are for the patients." Cameron protested. "And... and that isn't even the point. I just want to see Robert and talk to him. Like reasonable adults." She was using her most reasonable tone.

"Dr. Cameron." Wilson said in his most gently 'I'm-sorry-to-tell-you-but-you're-going-to-die' voice. "But it is written on his orders that he does not want visitors. We can't make exceptions for anyone."

"Then why is House here?" Cameron demanded.

"Because I'm a special precious unique snowflake, he's allowed to see those." House told her.

"This is ridiculous!" Cameron complained.

"I agree! This woman should already be arrested for knocking me down!" House said in an affronted and insulted tone. "Or at least trying to buy my forgiveness by getting me breakfast! No? Damn. How about a coffee? At least cough up the lollipops! One for all of us!"

Giggles again. Apparently, House had managed to get a good audience.

Chase had a feeling that she was glaring at House.

"Dr. Cameron... please... we have very sick patients here. And this noise isn't good first thing in the morning. They need their rest. In fact, why don't everyone either go back to their rooms, or to the play area. And Chase is probably trying to sleep right now. He's due to go down to surgery in an hour." Wilson told her, and his voice was getting fainter. Probably trying to lead her away gently.

The door opened wider and House slipped back in. Seeing Chase awake he smiled. "Good morning, Graceless. Ready to be filleted like a trout?" He asked brightly. "It's different being on the other side of the knife, huh?"

House made himself comfortable once more in the chair that, Chase suspected, would end up somehow going home with him. House was just probably trying to figure out how to get it out the door without Cuddy noticing.

"I've never had surgery before." Chase admitted, adjusting the blankets over his knees and raising the head of the bed so he could sit up. "It's different being on this side."

"You'll be fine." House told him. But he was looking down at his own legs while he said it. "You spend about half an hour, freezing your ass off in pre-op while the doctor fusses around making sure he's got everything, and that he's awake enough. Also that he has all his germs scrubbed off. And then you feel impossibly sleepy. You close your eyes, and then the next thing you know you're in recovery with someone yelling at you to 'wake up'. Over and over again, until you actually do. And then? They tell you to go back to sleep and rest. And for the rest of the day, they wake you up to tell you to sleep. You'd think they'd skip the waking part, but... then they don't get paid for working!"

"And if they screw up?" Chase asked, turning stations to watch the news. He'd seen it often enough. Complications. Or the surgeon slipping. It happened. Something going wrong, somewhere.

"They won't."

"If they do?"

"They won't." House said again. "Because I, Cuddy, and Wilson will be watching from observation. They'll be on their best behavior. There won't even be any kidney stealing!"

"Why? Why are you watching?" He asked. He was actually kind of curious as to why House was still here. The diagnosis was 'made'. Normally by now, House had dumped the patient and was off to work on his new medical puzzle.

"Well, I get out of clinic duty. Wilson is worried. And Cuddy has guilt." House explained, moving his left foot from side to side, making his cane wiggle on the toe of his shoe.

"You'll do anything to get out of clinic duty." Chase laughed, feeling pleased for some reason. Sometimes, he missed the old days. Times like this, really. They'd be sitting in diagnostics and House would put more effort in avoiding the Clinic than he would in curing the patient of the week. Sometimes, literally hiding!

"There's sick people in there!" House told him. "What makes them think I want to hang out with a bunch of sick people?"

"Oh, I don't know. The fact that you're a doctor?" Chase teased.

"Details." House flicked his fingers as though getting dust off them.

"They're going to want me to get on my feet tonight." Chase grimaced.

"Probably. Depends on what they find when they actually start diiiigging around in there." House said, using his fingers to look like he was scooping things up.

"Do you have to phrase it like that?" Chase asked.

"I could have made comments about letting the surgeon wear a hockey mask and just giving him a butcher knife?" House smiled, amused.

"No thanks." Chase shook his head.

Quiet again. This time Chase felt like it was crushing him. "Heard anything more about the pre-op mobile clinic nurse?" He finally asked.

"Not lately. But I think there's bets running on whether or not they'll stay together once the operation is done. You know, whether or not she's just with him for the money? Or if she'll stick with him for a while." House said, putting his hands behind his head.

"Ouch. Didn't think of that." Chase shook his head a little. "That would be insult to injury. I mean, you can't repossess a vagina."

"No. Could you imagine the one that had to go get it?" House paused. "On second thought, I'd so volunteer for that job just to see how it would be done."

"You're a sick sick man, House." Chase laughed.

"I thought about going into Gyno once." He admitted. "I mean, what Doctor doesn't?" He grinned.

"Oh? Why didn't you?" Chase asked.

"I didn't want to get bored with it." House chuckled. "And it would after a while. There's no... mystery."

"I thought for a moment you meant getting bored with the..." He gestured vaguely.

House laughed. "That can happen too." He admitted. "But no, I meant that there's no mystery to it. Nothing to really figure out. Same with Urology and Proctology."

"You went into nephrology." Chase pointed out.

"Yes, but that is because nearly everything gets filtered through there. It's a good start and end point." House explained. "But I also went into Infectious Diseases, which is my 'first' love. So many different things it can all be. So many tests. It's..."

"Exactly what you want." Chase offered.

He nodded.

Chase was suddenly startled. He realized that in the last day or so... he'd had two serious in-depth conversations with House! For a moment, he wondered if he was in a coma with a severe head injury and hallucinating it all. Because they could not seriously be having a real conversation that didn't involve House calling him names! And the middle of the night conversation, come to think of it? Had actually been 'deep'.

"Earth to moron? Earth to moron?" House waved a hand in front of his eyes.

Well, there shot that aspect.

"Sorry, was just thinking." Chase said.

"I thought I smelled something burning." House went to sit down once more. Wilson entered just as House revealed he'd stolen the remote from Chase again.

"Cameron cried a little. She's very worried about you. She cares. And you're not letting us tell her or anyone anything." Wilson reported. "But I think I finally have her convinced you're not dying. But I don't think she believes me when I say, you don't have a tumor in your spine." He had his hands on his hips as he stood at the foot of the bed. "Eventually, you're going to have to deal with her, and Foreman. They are your friends. You've been in each others lives for years."

"Whyyyyyy?" Chase finally let himself whine. "Why can't I just passively-aggressively avoid them for the rest of my natural life?"

Wilson turned to House and pointed at him. "This is your fault. You're a bad influence."

House opened his mouth and then laughed, amused and also stunned. "I didn't break them up! I didn't hurt him... much... What did I do?"

"You're a bad influence." Wilson repeated. "Three and a half years under you, and he's avoiding Cameron like you avoid Cuddy and the Clinic. And Foreman has the whole 'I was right' thing going on. And Cameron is trying to steal files! You've... You've... molded them into your image. And soon you'll have more tainted by you. You're building your own army of House-clones."

"Damn! I'm good!" House looked both disturbed and pleased. "I'll rule the world yet! Without even trying. But, no, sorry. I assure you, Chase was pre-avoidance before I ever met him. He'd rather avoid confrontation. Me? I thrive on it. Wanna watch? I can throw myself down on the ground again in front of witnesses? People really need to stop blaming me for other people's character flaws."

"What is this about her stealing files?" Chase interrupted before Wilson could argue some more.

"I got a page after leaving her downstairs, and she was found hanging around the records. She must have run to get there so fast. Trying to get a look at them, since they were all transferred into your proper file last night. She didn't get far, and Cuddy is lecturing her right now." Wilson explained.

"Well, that'll take the rest of the day if Cuddy gets on a roll. Too bad I'm missing it. If they really get to yelling at each other? Imagine the heaving bosoms?" He paused. "On second thought I'd probably get smothered with them, but what a way to go."

The other two men were quiet a moment, contemplating being smothered by bosoms. "Worse ways to go." Wilson finally admitted. "But that's beside the point..."

"What was the point?" House asked. "I forgot with the bosoms."

Chase took the pillow and put it over his head, as though to smother himself, realized that it was too much like the conversation they'd had on a tangent and uncovered his head.

"Don't kill yourself, Chase. I promise you're just as pretty as Cameron." House said in a comforting manner. "And your hair is much more adorable. You don't need a big bosom, promise."

"Good. Otherwise, I'll have to get a sugar-daddy to pay for my surgery." Chase rolled his eyes.

"Not me. I couldn't live with myself if you dumped me after the surgery and ran off with someone else. Wilson would be out the money for a boob job, since I would borrow it from him, and you'd be out the door. No, best to keep you flat-chested and semi-dependant."

Chase snorted, shaking his head. "Not likely."

Wilson on the other hand had that same worried and confused look he usually got when he had no idea what the hell House was talking about.

Then it seemed to come together and understanding flitted across his face. "Oh, this is about that weird board member and his new girlfriend isn't it?"

They nodded together and Wilson smiled. "I just found out... she has an eleventh toe."

House looked interested. "Really? Shame they can't breed. Their kids could have eleven fingers and eleven toes."

"Would make buying shoes tough. Gloves too." Chase reasoned.

"Nah, just buy extra wide shoes. Has there been visual confirmation on the toe?" House asked.

Wilson was nodding when a nurse came in with a small measuring cup full of some kind of orange medicine for Chase to drink. "Uhhhh, it's that time already?" Chase felt nervous.

She gave him a flirty smile and leaned over him.

House rolled his eyes. "For crying out loud. It's like the nurses are sharks. They smell blood in the water and they start to swarm. Just because he and Cameron broke up, doesn't mean you have a chance, girlie. Give him the goop and get out." He hit the bed railing with his cane.

She gave House a scowl and frowned leaving in a huff.

Wilson rubbed his chin, trying not to smirk. "House..."

"What? First I have to run one off that was drooling all over his IV, and now that one was trying to orchestrate a clothing malfunction for his benefit! No wonder you love working this department. The nurses are likely to molest you!" He told Wilson.

"They do not." Wilson protested.

"Did you not see her? If we hadn't been here, she would have crawled in bed with him." House exaggerated. "He's too weak to fight her off right now. And not like he could call the nurses' station for help. That would just be inviting an orgy!"

"Oh, the torture." Chase said woefully. "Wait, how is this a bad thing?"

"Mr. Winky isn't winking lately?"

Chase and Wilson both winced. "I didn't need reminded." Chase bitched. "Couldn't you selectively erase that from your memory and forget about it?"

"Not my fault. I didn't break it. I've only touched it once. And it wasn't like it was for pleasure. I just didn't want to clean pee off you later." House pointed out. "And you can have your orgy after you're healed up some. We'll get proper hookers, dress them up as nurses! Professionals!"

Chase had drank the orange goop and made a face. "So that is what that tastes like."

"Yeahhhh. At least, now you have a real story to tell patients when they're scared of what you're about to do to them." House folded the chair up and put his cane on the floor, resting his chin on it.

The next nurse was older. The other probably sent her in so she didn't have to deal with House again. She gave Chase a maternal smile and handed him various papers. "These are consent forms, dear. I'm sure you've seen them before."

Chase took them in hand as well as the pen she handed him. Among them was the Living Will and he quickly made his way through all the papers, until he got to the part where it asked who could make medical decisions should he be incapacitated. He paused and frowned, thinking it over.

He tapped the pen against his lips and then, without asking he wrote down the name Gregory House. Without a word, he handed the paperwork over to the nurse and gave her a small smile. Off she went to properly file them.

When the gurney arrived a moment later, Chase had his first moment of panic. "Wait... are we sure we have to do this?" He asked as they took away his morphine drip completely and moved the IV pole to the end of the gurney and raised his bed as high as it would go.

Wilson put a hand on one of Chase's feet and patted it. "It's going to be all right. We're going to be right there the whole time. Nothing to be worried about."

House tilted his head and said. "Sedative."

Wilson nodded and agreed, hurrying out to get it.

"I don't need a sedative, really. I mean they're going to knock me out pretty soon anyway..." Chase felt like his heart was beating pretty quickly as they moved the gurney so that it was even and against the bed.

"Just relax... We'll do most the work." The attendant assured, effortlessly moving Chase from the bed to the gurney and then spreading a blanket over the top of him before once more checking his connections.

Chase's eyes widened slightly and he said. "We could reschedule?"

"Nope!" House said. "Now now, put on a brave face. There's little bald kids out there, and they'll freak out if they see you freaking out." He said in a condescending manner. "And if you're a really good boy, when you get out... you get to have all the ice cream you can eat!"

"I'm not having my tonsils taken out." Chase protested.

"No, just a very naughty fragment. No big deal. In and out. Wow, I haven't said that since my last date!" House assured. "You'll be fine. And then you can still have ice cream."

"Let's just skip the ice cream, and I can go home." Chase bargained. "Well, a new motel..."

Wilson returned just as they were moving out the door, and he injected the sedative into the IV.

"Good timing. He was about to try and bribe someone to help him escape." House was amused.

"First operation ever?" Wilson asked.

House nodded, smirking. "Oh yeah."

Chase closed his eyes and tried to enjoy the relaxation while it lasted. He still wanted to 'run'. But he no longer felt like making the effort.

House only went so far before saying. "Wilson will stay with you till time to go in. I'm going to Observation and scope out a good seat."

As though it would be packed like opening night at the theatre. Wilson shook his head, but didn't argue and he continued with them into the pre-op area. He watched as they put the different little monitor tapes on him, hooking him up to various machines. Putting a blood pressure cup on him that would automatically pump and deflate. Then the pulse ox on his finger.

Chase was discovering exactly what House meant about ten minutes later when he started to shiver. "It's freezing!"

"Don't notice it as much when you're up and moving." Wilson said apologetically as he went to a nurse and asked for a heated blanket. When it was brought, Wilson covered him with it. "If you get cold again, let me know... we can get another blanket."

"I feel like I'm in a freezer." His teeth wanted to chatter, and every tremor made his back hurt. Wilson saw his pulse and blood pressure rising and fetched a syringe of pain killer, injecting it. He frowned. "It's just a very low dose. Can't give you too much, because they'll be knocking you out soon."

"When? Now? Can it be now?" Chase squeezed his eyes closed. "Can I have another blanket?"

He'd gone from wanting to run away to wanting to get it over with.

Another blanket, and Wilson soothed a hand over his shoulder. "Soon. Just hang on a bit longer. They're almost ready."

Chase rarely waited with the patients during pre-op. But he knew that they couldn't avoid the chill of the room and that they couldn't just drug him up to the gills. He was just about to send Wilson to see if it would be soon, when they came to wheel him into the surgical room. Wilson gave his shoulder a squeeze and left him in the hall, presumably to join House in Observation.

He couldn't see much of the room, but he knew what it would look like. There was a stereo in the upper corner, sectioned off and gently playing soft music for the surgeon. Whatever they wanted to listen to. They log rolled him onto his stomach. They pulled his arm out and put the mask over his mouth and nose. The nurses told him he'd be all right. And before he knew it, he was out.

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	25. Chapter 25

The first thing that Chase was aware of, was that something was on his face. It felt tight and uncomfortable, but most of all, it was blowing air on him in a steady stream. It was annoying him, and it was making his eyes feel squished up and dry.

It took far longer than he thought it should to get his arm to obey his command, but he finally managed to drag it up and to his face. His fingers didn't really grasp it, so much as slap at the offending piece of plastic. Two attempts, and it was off his face and closer to his ear. His hand dropped to his side, useless for anything more.

Suddenly, it was back on his nose and mouth. Fingers smoothed his hair down, and then disappeared. "You are all right." A small feminine voice said. "Thank God..." The voice drifted away, leaving him alone in darkness.

"Come onnnn, God had nothing to do with it. And would you stop feeling him up? Unprofessional!"

Chase would have laughed if he could have caught his breath. The moment of initial panic was fading. If House was riding someone about 'something' then nothing was terribly wrong. But why was House in Recovery? Or did he bully his way in?

"I assure you, that I am merely trying to aid in his recovery." The woman... who was it? Anne? Wait... why was Anne here? She worked in ICU! Were they running short on nurses again? Could be. "Dr. Chase has always been kind to us, and I'm married anyway!"

"Likely story. You just want to feel his hair and see if it is as soft as it looks. He does have great hair. The little bastard." House sounded disgusted.

"Jealous Doctor House?" Anne said and then paused a moment. "He's either awake or waking up."

"D'uh." House muttered. "You thought that just fell off?"

And then a voice came closer. A different voice from the other two. It was calling him. 'Time to wake up, Robert! Robert. Wake up now.' Someone was tapping his shoulder. "Wake up, Robert. Open your eyes."

He wanted to tell her that he was already awake, but after a moment he realized that he'd actually fallen back to sleep. He dragged his hand back to his oxygen mask, smacking it away again. His face felt overly dry and stiff from the constant blast of air. He tried to open his eyes, but they felt gummed up.

The fingers returned, putting the mask back over his mouth and nose and he managed to make a noise of protest. "Nooooo..." He turned his head slightly to the side, eyes still closed. His eyelids were still too heavy, too thick somehow. He turned his head to the other side, trying to evade the mask that she was putting on him.

"Yeah he's awake." House agreed. "And already being a pain in the ass."

"Are you with us, Robert?" The voice said close to his ear. "You should have a bit more oxygen... You need it." She insisted, once more placing the oxygen mask back on his face. "Try to open your eyes, Robert. Let's see those pretty blue eyes."

"Now, see if I said that, particularly to a female patient I'd get glared at and called sexist. Again!" House huffed.

"That's because you're a sexist pig." Anne told him.

"I gotta be me." House insisted.

It took a great deal of energy and effort, but he finally managed to pry his eyes open a little. He recognized the unknown woman from working in ICU. But he'd never really talked in-depth with her. She was just part of the scenery. But now she was standing directly over him, her hand on his shoulder and adjusting his mask while trying to get him to pay attention. Both Anne and this woman?

"Uhm." He turned his head from side to side, but he couldn't shake off the plastic mask, which was somewhat blowing air on his eyes as well.

"There you are. I knew you could do it!" The nurse smiled down at him, stroking his hair. "We'll move you back to your room as soon as you're a bit better. And then you can sleep some more. Do you know your name?" She asked.

"It doesn't matter how may time you pet him, he's not going to follow you home." House pronounced from the hard chair beside the bed. He was definitely in ICU. He'd recognize this place anywhere. "Trust me, even if you got him home, you'd have to cage him and get a muzzle!"

"Ah, so that's how people handle you outside the hospital." Anne countered back.

"Woof!" House barked at her.

"Hon? What is your name? Ignore Dr. House. He's... bored... apparently." Anne said bitterly, and obviously annoyed.

"My shows are re-runs today." House piped up to explain why he was there.

"Rooohberrrrt Ch-chasssse." His eyes were so heavy, so he let them close again. Surely they didn't really expect him to stay awake for long? That was impossible! All he really wanted to do was sleep.

"Good boy." She said in approval, once more petting his shoulder. "You're going to be all right." She assured. "You're going to be alllll right."

"Of course he's going to be all right." House snarled at her. "You make it sound... Just do your damn job." He told her.

"I'm going to report you to Doctor Cuddy." Anne hissed back.

"Go ahead. She's used to it. Looks forward to it. Gives her an excuse to see me!" House returned.

He was only vaguely aware as he heard the sounds of things being snapped into place or moved around. He knew these things, only by the sounds which were as familiar to him as the sound of his own voice, breathing, and heart beat. He'd been asleep again. He was in and out, a lot. He didn't even know if it was the same day, or the next day.

Someone touched his hand, wrapping his fingers in theirs. Odd. The nurse really shouldn't be that familiar with a patient. It was inappropriate. He forced his eyes to open again and Allison was leaning over him. It didn't connect with him at first, because he almost didn't recognize her. His brain was still being slow to catch up with the rest of the world.

"Are you okay?" She asked.

The two nurses that were helping to take care of him, gave him varying degrees of wavering smiles.

"Mm." He muttered. He kept wanting to breathe against the air blowing in his face. It came at him relentlessly. Chase's eyes fell shut once more and he only woke again a few seconds later. "Not suuuppose..." He dragged out of himself.

"I'm not here to make demands or to bother you. I just wanted to see if you were okay." She told him quickly, holding up her hand. "We were friends once. And I still care for you. So when I found out you were in ICU? I was worried. I'm just here... to check on you. Friend to friend." She insisted.

"Iiii'm not good person. Sorry. I'm arse." He told her with a great deal of difficulty. "Bet-ter friennnnd than..."

He remembered a snatch of conversation. 'Don't turn into a good guy on me now.' Or perhaps that was a paraphrase. But it was the essence behind it that mattered. He wasn't as good a guy as people tended to think. Perhaps Foreman was the only one, besides House, that saw that he wasn't some kind of sweet innocent guy. He'd taken advantage of her on more than one occasion. Not just the time she was high, and not thinking clearly, but the fact that he'd pushed for a relationship that he deep down hadn't believed he was capable of carrying through. He had in a sense, led her on.

"You're a good guy." She told him. "You're just... depressed. I've been researching and depression is the most common side effect of chronic pain."

He could almost hear the words 'explains a lot about House' despite the fact that she didn't say them.

"Not time... to... talk." He licked his lips under the mask and closed his eyes. He heard the soft hiss of the door opening.

Wilson sighed heavily on the other side. "Dr. Cameron..."

"Dr. Wilson." Chase opened his eyes in time to see her give him a contrite smile. "I'm just... trying to be a friend."

"Wow. I knew you were a stalker!" House said from somewhere in the distance.

"I'm not stalking him." She denied. "If you, or Foreman, or Wilson were here? I'd come see any of you."

"Helloooooo? Earth to Cameron. He's in ICU. And you're trying to talk to him about what? Not the weather I bet. Bet you asked him about the state of your relationship with him and whyyyyy he broke up with you and won't talk to you." House sneered it. "Granted, I'm not the picture of perfect mental health, but that's pretty much creepy behavior! Wilson? Ban her from this floor."

"No. In fact, I told him I'm not here for that. I just wanted to see if he was doing all right." She insisted.

"Yeah, well, he's going to live. So go. You know the rules, only one visitor at a time, and it is now Wilson's and my turn." House told her.

"You're two people." Cameron said, stepping out of the small alcove.

"Not according to the mock credit profile I put together, for a new credit card application!" He called after her as she left. Wilson stared at House and then shook his head. House pushed past Wilson and pointed at Chase. "You Mister, we're having words later about you and paperwork!"

Then he turned to Wilson. "Wilson? Send one of the subminions to get me lunch!"

Wilson rolled his eyes and hunched his back, dragging his foot behind him as he made his voice a bit creepy saying. "Yesssss Master, Igor obeyssss Master..."

Chase quietly chuckled as the nurses left him and House alone in the glass room.

"You're ready to move from here to a real room. You'll still be watched closely, but you no longer warrant a spot in here." House told him. "Now? The real fun starts."

With that, he turned and was heading out quickly. Chase suspected it was so Chase couldn't ask him questions. Not that Chase felt like it, but he did have questions.

It was some time later, the amount of which he had no idea, that the nurses came to move him from the ICU to the regular room. They were keeping him in Oncology, since James Wilson was still his official doctor of note. He was beginning to suspect it was also because House only had to go down a couple of corridors to get to his beloved recliner and television.

The transfer from one bed to the other bed was made rather swiftly, but painfully. They had used a sheet underneath of him to slide him from one to the other, but then he'd had to turn over while they rolled and bunched it up toward his back, and then rolled him over on the other side, to finish pulling it out from under him. Log rolls. Each time, they had kept his back straight and somehow immobile by some manner he was not yet aware of. But by the time they were done, his eyes were watering, and he was biting his lip to keep from screaming out. All the wonderful 'padding' from the drugs was wearing off, the pain bringing life into sharp focus.

House sat on the arm of his recliner, watching them work, a look of intense concentration on his face. As though he himself were doing the work, somehow. Or perhaps he was merely lost in his own mind, and was totally unaware of what was going on in front of him. Chase wasn't sure. All he knew was that his world was on fire, from his back.to his chest.

"He's in pain." House told the nurses as they were hooking things up.

The nurse nodded and continued to hook the connections up, transferring his oxygen to the hook up on the wall as well as moving the IVs around.

"He's in pain now." House repeated, this time stressing the word now. "Hook up his damn pain meds and then pretty up his bed."

The nurse frowned at him, but after a brief moment of hesitation pulled the morphine pump back to the bed and hooked it in with the rest of the IVs. She pushed the button and within seconds, Chase had a bit of relief.

He closed his eyes once more and the world again ceased to exist.

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	26. Chapter 26

Pain woke him.

Not the dull ache he was used to, or even the sharp jolts of lightening that felt like something was tearing in his back when he moved wrong. Those, he was at least familiar with.

This was fire. Hot fire all along the back. But, no, not just his back. His chest too! His chest felt like hell! What the hell? Before it had been muted. He'd been unaware of the extent. Now it was all confusing.

He didn't know where he was. He didn't know what was going on. All he knew was that it hurt like hell and that it was going to kill him. He had no control over it. He couldn't move to get away from it. He hurt so bad. They must be lowering the dose of the pain meds. God please, help? Raise it back up again!

Tears of pain ran down the side of his face, into his ears while twin jets of air blew oxygen into his nostrils. The thin bit of plastic tubing was hooked over each ear and then up into the wall. At least, it was no longer the full face oxygen mask. But he couldn't be concerned with that at the moment.

He couldn't form the words, only make a thin sound of distress.

A vibration as something was hooked on the railing of his bed. House's cane. "Now now, none of that." House told him. Chase felt something pushed into his hand and his fingers placed on top. "You push the button, and the pain fades. Just push... They gave you your pump back. You're in control."

House pushed his finger for him, and then the world once more retreated for Chase.

He was not asleep, but he was also not awake. He was suspended somewhere in between where the world was dark and soothing, but the noises were still audible and he could almost understand.

"How is he?" Wilson? Yes, it was Wilson speaking.

"He woke up for a few minutes. In pain. I don't think he knows where he is or even what is going on at this point. Just that he's in pain and wants it to stop." House told him.

"You going home tonight?" Wilson asked. "The nurses need to put him through some exercises, and they're scared to come in while you're in here!"

"For a bit, then I'm coming back. Might as well. I've got nothing better to do. Besides the little bastard listed me as his medical proxy." House... it was hard to figure out his tone of voice.

"Did you know he was going to do that? Or that he had done so before the surgeon called to you?" Wilson asked. "And that doesn't actually mean you have to stay here. It's just that usually proxies are related and so it just seeeeems like they have to be here."

"No. I had no idea. It was a complete surprise to me."

"Makes sense though. Don't you think?" Wilson said carefully.

"I mean, in terms of... everything. You're... qualified. And... he trusts you. I mean maybe not with his wallet, but in terms of medical expertise..." Wilson laughed quietly.

"Hm." House said quietly.

"You did the right thing, House." Wilson said quietly.

"I'm sure that is what Cuddy told Stacy." House told Wilson. "I'll be back, I need a shower and to feed Steve."

"I'll stick around till you're back." Wilson offered. "Let the nurses know you're not lurking about to eat them."

"I'm not going to eat them... have you seen them? Yikes." House made a noise of disgust. "Now if it was Carman Electra? That would be a different story."

"House..." Wilson groaned as they both went through the door.

Chase drifted to sleep as there was no more conversation and he could hear the room door quietly shut behind House.

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	27. Chapter 27

The next time he woke, he was able to push the button on his own before the pain could reach the same heights it had earlier. He felt sore and tired. And he was aware that the nurses had moved him some time recently. Probably putting him through exercises for his back, legs, and arms. As well as keeping him from getting bed sores. The gentle hiss of oxygen into his nose was nearly comforting and the room was soft shadows. He could smell some kind of food... chicken?

He carefully turned his head to the side, to see House watching the television and eating dinner from a black take out plate that had a clear cover attached. It looked kind of good, really.

"Howse." He cleared his throat and tried again. "House."

"There you are." House said, not really looking at him. "I was about to start interviews for seven dwarves. Since you decided to sleep so long... They could stand guard until we found your Prince."

"House." Chase repeated, his voice sounded wispy and hushed to his ears. "Whaaaat... happened? I wuzzzz in ICU?"

He vaguely remembered the conversation Wilson and House had earlier. And now that he was more coherent, he was starting to get worried about what it might mean.

"You're a stubborn, contrary, pain in the ass. That's what happened. And you could have warned me that you made me your medical proxy. You're supposed to ask first. You know the whole consent of both parties thing?"

"You'dsaidno." Chase managed to say on one breath.

"Probably." House admitted, he stood up and grabbed a plastic device from the dresser nearby. It had a hose and a mouth piece hooked up to little chambers inside. "But lucky for you, I didn't tell them no when they called up to me. Blow out and then inhale in this. You know what to do."

That's right, he was going to watch from Observation. Chase felt his hands shaking as he held the plastic handles on each side, and wrapped his lips around the mouth piece. The little pieces inside that were supposed to measure his volume didn't go up very high.

"Again." House commanded. "You didn't get the happy face. See the happy face? You got a sad face." House pointed at the little stickers beside where they wanted his volume to be.

It was a little higher and his chest was beginning to ache again.

"Again." House ordered. "Come on, really suck on it! Deep breath. Suck! You know, I always wondered why they call it a blow job? When there's sucking involved. Again... Suck. No, don't laugh. Suck on it idiot." He chuckled. "You don't want pneumonia on top of everything else. Come on you should be a natural at this. All that sucking up over the years? How many was that? Five. You have five more. Come on, put a happy face on this thing... You really suck at sucking. And not in the good way. Four more. Suck suck suck suck... would it help if I bought some flavored lube and smeared it on the end? Stop laughing..." House chuckled. "You're not supposed to laugh... Try it again. Three more. Two more... now give me one last good one... THERE HAPPY FACE! I think it needs a cigarette now..." He took the Incentive Spirometry device and looked at it. "I think I'm envious..."

"Whathappen?" He asked again, closing his eyes as they felt too heavy to be open. But he was still smiling vaguely. He tried to take a mental check list of his body, but it felt like everything was sluggish and off-line. He was having trouble lifting his arms too high, at the moment.

House was quiet a moment and then said. "You decided to make things exciting and interesting in surgery. They removed the fragment, with no problem. But then... You are a very very difficult patient." House said as though he were lecturing a five year old. "Just couldn't be an easssssy case. No."

"My chest..." Chase tried to look down, but found he couldn't really lift his head. He was too weak.

"You're on the surgeon's shit list, let me tell you." He told him. "You had an infarction of the myocardial kind. Heart attack. You just can't do anything easy. You just have to inject a bit of excitement in everything."

Chase groaned. "My chest hurts. Wondered, why."

House rubbed his forehead and sighed. "You'll live, of course. But it has caused some complications to your recovery. But I swear, when you are up and around again? I'm kicking your ass! How dare you put me in this position?"

"You made... decision? What was... it?" Chase asked.

House rubbed his chin and sighed. "Originally the plan was to carefully take away or cut away the edge that was putting pressure on your spine. Remove the fragment. And then realign the other area and pin it together." House explained.

Chase waited patiently for him to drop the other shoe.

"They got inside, and found that there was some compression fractures involved as well. Your back once it was down to it, was... I was consulted on the kind of pinning since it was originally supposed to be a Posterior lumbar interspinous fusion. I... decided to approve going with the two rod system. Kaneda. Because you're developing deformity, neurological deficits... from what I could see, you were going to keep getting worse. The surgeon had recommended the Z-plate. But I had been reading and, there's been some occasional failures with the Z-plate ending up in more surgery. There have been fewer failures with the Kaneda. You missed quite the argument. Of course, you were unconscious, but I assure you, it was a thing of beauty. There's a bit of swelling at the moment, which is why you probably can't really feel or move yet. You're moving your arms a bit, which is a good sign. But, you haven't moved your legs at all, and you've not been reacting to pain in your feet. If I had let them just do the Z-plate, you would have been out of the surgery faster, and they wouldn't have had to risk having you open as long. And... it might not have led to your heart attack. On the other hand, it's a question mark since you could have had one anyway. It is a potential complication either way."

Chase looked toward his feet and tried to move his toes.

He groaned and closed his eyes. This time when his eyes felt hot and stinging, it wasn't from the injured areas...

"You were at a critical juncture in the surgery, they couldn't just leave you open, and they just couldn't close you up. Something had to be done one way or the other, and with your heart acting up... the stress of the medications and surgery itself probably could have killed you. But I decided that you would rather have the chance... your back would be stronger than if they just used pins." House added. "A better chance that you could stand for longer periods of time, and hopefully less pain than you would otherwise have, as well as being able to carry heavier loads."

"Any chance it'll pass?" He asked in a whisper. "That when the swelling goes down..."

"It's still a chance." House said. "It's too early to tell. But I had no intention of lying to you, either. There's also a chance you'll never walk again. But I don't think that is what is going to happen. To be honest? I'm more worried about your heart. You're thirty three, and just had a heart attack. That's not good."

Chase kept his eyes closed and then nodded. "Thank you." He made himself say. It was too much right now to think about. It was overwhelming and just too big. The heart monitor beeped along rising as he became upset.

House stood up and over him. "Calm down before you blow up the work the doctor did. Your heart blows again, there's no chance in hell you'll walk again. You'll be dead. So calm down and stop being an idiot. Try to get some sleep. At least you get out of being forced to stand up tonight. Go to sleep, you're interrupting my quality time with the DVD player Wilson brought down from Maternity. Maternity has the best stuff. I have the entire first season of Deadwood. If you're good and quiet, you can watch it with me."

Sitting back down, House used the new remote to push play, and then turned the volume up on the little white corded remote for the television, hanging it on the bed so that both of them could hear it.

Chase tried to pay attention to the television, rather than think about anything at all. He drifted in and out of sleep, waking up and no longer being able to tell what was going on in the show. But one thing was for sure... they sure did say 'cocksucker' in that show, a lot. So it wasn't as though he felt like he missed too much when he drifted off.

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	28. Chapter 28

"You have Clinic duty." He heard Cuddy say.

"Mmm nope." House made the p pop as he said it. "I sent a minion in my stead. Delegation. That's the key!" House denied. "You tell me to do something. I tell someone else to do it for me. Isn't it great how that works?"

"Noooo, youuuu have Clinic duty. I want you in there, not one of your..."

"I am exactly where I should be." House pronounced with a note of finality.

"Sitting in here watching... what the hell are you watching?" Cuddy asked, confusion coloring the tone of her voice. She frowned at the television and then turned back to him. Chase was peeking at her from under his lids.

"Girls gone wild." He told her. "Very educational. Think of it as... Abnormal Psychology with bikinis." He tried to look so sincere. Of course, it was overdone, and obvious he was anything but.

"House..." She sighed. "Just do your Clinic duty. Or get a patient. Something? I'm not paying you to watch girls in bikinis and to sit around eating in Chase's room."

"Youuuu'd rather pay me to watch General Hospital and eat in Coma Guy's room?" He asked, squinting. "Beeecause I'd have to say it isn't too far removed from one another. And at least Chase can almost hold a conversation, when he's awake."

"No, I'd rather pay you for wooooorking." She told him, hands on hips and bending toward him. Was that an intimidation tactic? Because all it did was show cleavage? Ah, perhaps it was incentive? No, couldn't be. That didn't work either. Because otherwise he'd never leave the clinic.

"I am working. I'm... reviewing female anatomy, offering moral support to a patient, and... give me a moment I'll come up with another good excuse. Could you move to the side, she's about to take off her top... Unless you want to take yours off, and then I promise you have my full and utmost attention... carry on!"

"HOUSE!"

"Shhhhhhhhh! Patient!" House chided her in a scandalized harsh whisper. "And you call yourself a doctor. He needs quiet and rest!"

"Go do your Clinic duty." The sound of her shoes clicking against the floor was followed the soft sound of the door shutting.

Chase looked up at the television. "That's not Girls Gone Wild." He cleared his throat. It felt dry.

"Yeah, but she refused to turn around a second time and look. So she doesn't know any better." House noisily sipped his drink through a straw.

"What is it?" Chase asked quietly. Because the men that came on next seemed more like they were the focus of the show.

"Sopranos. Wilson brought me the first three seasons. Have to have something to watch while you sleep. Tony Soprano owns a strip joint called the Bada Bing. You know they filmed it here in New Jersey. People can even visit the locations." House explained, obviously not in too big a hurry to go to the Clinic.

"Why are you here?" Chase finally asked. "Besides hiding from Clinic duty?"

He was in discomfort, but he didn't want to press the button and fall asleep again. Not yet. Not till he understood what was going on.

"You have my recliner in your room." House said. "Now you have cable, and a DVD player. You have a bathroom. All we need in here now, is one of those apartment sized ice boxes, and I'll never have to leave here again! Now... suuuuuuck the hose!" He pointed at the plastic device with the happy and sad faces. "Ten times. Chop chop. Get really good at it, you can give lessons to the Hookers. Imagine the time they'd save. They could service twice as many and really rake in the cash..."

"Houuuuse. Besides, I'm pretty sure a lot of them get paid by the hour, that is if you get the good ones." Chase drawled, but he picked it up and gave it a dirty look. He held it and wrapped his lips around, sucking in as hard as he could. Sad face. Sad face. Allllmost happy... sad face. Sad face. HAPPY FACE!

He noticed House watching and counting it off on his hands. The last suck was a sad face again, but he was off the hook for a bit.

"You made me responsible." House said in a level tone. His face was serious and had that calculating look. The 'there is a puzzle' here look. And this must be that arse-kicking that House referred to earlier. "Not as a doctor. But as... I don't even know. I want to know why?"

Chase was silent for a moment and said. "Because when you win, I win."

"What the hell does that mean?" House demanded. He looked about ready to stand up and start pacing. The kind of pacing when he was looking for an answer to a case. Chase could almost imagine him getting ready to stand in front of a white board.

He wasn't surprised when House did stand up and come closer. "Differential diagnosis. Thirty-three year old man. On the rebound after running from commitment and fear of developing a dependence on another person. Has chronic pain that he's successfully hidden for nearly fifteen years, but has worsened in the last couple of years. Fell doing something embarrassing, tried to hide it. Presents with severe trust issues as well as self-esteem problems."

And there was the pacing. Back and forth. Thinking while walking. "Withdraws from all acquaintances and friends and denies their advice and concerns. Ends up coming to his former boss. Why? Makes former boss responsible for his life. Why? Former boss fired him. Former boss is a known asshole. He knows that the former boss doesn't take the easy route. He knows that sometimes, it results in putting the patients in danger. So why would he put his life, in the hands of someone that could potentially make a decision that could kill him? Is it potentially Moronitis? Late Onset-Masochistic-Idiocy?"

"It means, that you... do whatever is necessary to... win. When you win, the patient wins. I win. You aren't afraid to try something new, different, outside the box and not traditional. You're good at what you do. I don't understand why you think I would think you'd accidentally kill me. In all the time I worked for you, we rarely lost anyone. Sure it happened sometimes, but... the wins outweighed the losses. As for why I came to you in the first place? Isn't it obvious? You know. You... understand pain." Chase said quietly. "You think you made the wrong decision? You think maybe if you hadn't delayed the surgery so they could bring the rods, and then kept me open longer that the swelling wouldn't have gotten so bad? That the stress put on my body by doing so, and the medicine and such... that you may have caused the heart attack? You didn't. That was always a risk. With anyone in my position. They were in my Thoracic area. Not to mention... House? I've been having stress from pain for FOUR months. I've been having chest pains during the last two months. I chalked it up to my back. But it is very possible they were warning signs. My arm would go numb, and I'd think... damn nerves. I had mini-attacks. Silent heart-attacks! But because of my other symptoms? It blended in. At least when the big one came, I was already hooked to a heart monitor! You didn't cause it."

"You did, what I wanted. In fact, you may have given me a better chance at having a more normal life, with less pain in the future. Thank you. I don't regret it! And I'd do it again. I trust you. With my life. I've always trusted you in medical matters. That is the real reason I always agreed. Not because I'm a suck up. But because I think you're usually right!"

"Even if you end up paralyzed for life? Or have another heart attack, since your heart muscle is weakened? Even if you had warning signs, the surgery pushed you over the edge." House said with a sneer, glaring at him. Chase tilted his head and looked at him. Chase had a sudden thought. He's not mad because I trusted him. He's mad because he's scared he screwed up. Interesting...

"At least, the chance was taken. There is no 'what if'." Chase closed his eyes and pushed the button. "Go do Clinic duty before... she... beats you with your own cane. I want to nap anyway."

His body relaxed as the pain that had been building eased away again, leaving him floating along on a cloud. Nothing mattered right now.

He heard the recliner slowly fold back up, and the sound of the door opening and then closing.

No guarantee that House would actually go to Clinic duty, but at least he knew that Chase didn't blame him. And perhaps that is why he'd been hanging around so much to begin with. Guilt?

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	29. Chapter 29

Interlude 6

"He says he doesn't blame me." House sat in Wilson's office, still hiding from Clinic Duty. He was turned side ways on the couch, his feet up, and had an arm over his eyes.

"That's... good... right?" Wilson said.

"You said I made the right decision, despite it being the one everyone else would have rejected. Why?" House demanded, peeking out from under his arm.

Wilson held his hands up a little shaking his head. "Beeeecause... I don't know. Chase trusted you to make the decision he would have made himself. Soooo, I suppose I don't know. I figured he knew that you would do that."

"You said it, to make me feel better for potentially crippling him! But you don't know if I made the right decision." House said. "Not till that swelling goes down again! For all we know, he could be stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. Two thirds of people that have a heart attack as acute as he did, do not make a full recovery. He has a fifteen percent more chance of having illness or death from this point on. Twenty seven percent of men that have a heart attack die, in the first year. Thirteen percent of men have a chance of sudden death and twenty of heart failure!"

"I'm simply amazed that you have all those statistics memorized. He's going to be fine. I... didn't you just say that Chase isn't blaming you? I'm lost here. I think I'm missing part of this conversation, which isn't unusual. But if I'm to have anything helpful to say, you need to let me in on the part that is going on in your head!" Wilson huffed. "I'm still not a mind reader!"

"Thank goodness for that, you'd go insane if you were in my head." House pointed out. "How does anyone know if it is the right decision?" He asked. "He said there were no 'what ifs'. That it was the decision he would have wanted to make, because when I win, the patient wins, and therefore he wins... how can he say that when he can't even move his legs yet!"

"Yet. The swelling could come down and his legs will be fine. If that happens, then the chances that he'll be back to what he could consider normal will be almost ensured. You made the decision he would have made to keep the life he wanted." Wilson explained as though House should realize this.

"But if I had gone the other way, his back would have been weaker yes, but he might not have coded, and there was less chance of the swelling getting worse from how long they were screwing around in his back... and less chance that he'll be in a wheelchair and his heart wouldn't be weakened even more!" House pointed out. "How do we know, I made the right decision!"

Wilson put his head in his hands. "House, you make these kinds of decisions all the time. You make the decision, order people to carry them out and damn the torpedoes. Why the hell do you care so much about the right-wrong of it right now? He said, you made the right decision. That's all that matters."

House threw his hands up as he sat up once more. "You don't get it."

"No! I don't! Help me get it!" Wilson begged. "Because right now you're just being difficult!"

"I'm not... responsible for them. I don't know them. They come through my department and we never see them again. The decision I made will..." House ground down and grimaced, looking disgusted.

"Will have repercussions that you will be witness to." Wilson finished. "You know and care... now stop don't you protest... you care about Chase. You care about me and Cuddy, whether you admit it or not. I think you also care about Cameron and Foreman. And you can glare at me all you want, but it doesn't make it any less true. You're going to see the results of the decision and have to live with them..."

House turned away, arms crossed over his chest defensively, but Wilson persisted. "You're worried you have crippled him, like Stacy did to you. She made a decision, one you didn't agree with, and then left you with the results. This is... based on you and your experiences with people making decisions about you. Trusting them with your life. And now you're worried you've done a-a-a Stacy on Chase! But House, he said you made the decision he would have made. It isn't the same. She went against your expressed wishes! It wasn't until they opened Chase up, that they found the situation was going to be progressive. You made a decision as the situation developed."

"That doesn't mean it was the right one." House finally said.

"Did Stacy make the right one? Or was your decision the right one?" Wilson asked. "Or were you both wrong, and you should have had the amputation? We don't really know, do we? Or do we? It is based on how the person most affected feels about it. And he... thinks it is the right decision. Stop beating yourself up!"

House growled low in his throat and used his cane to lever himself up.

"House? He's going to live. He survived the surgery. The decision has been implemented. Going over what ifs, and what could have beens, isn't going to help him, or you." Wilson said before House could storm out. "Just go home, feed Steve, play your piano, and get some sleep..."

House slammed the door on his way out and Wilson sighed, rubbing his head. For all that people thought that House liked to take the easy way out of things, the truth was he did anything but. And for the first time in a long time, House would have to live with the consequences for a decision he made for someone else. It was a responsibility that House wasn't used to. He hadn't liked it when he felt responsible for Foreman becoming ill. He'd done everything possible and then some to try and fix it. Beat himself up over it in private. Speaking of...

After a moment, Wilson picked up the phone and dialed a few numbers. "Dr. Foreman? This is Dr. Wilson. Is there a chance you and I could have a little chat some time soon? When? Wonderful. I'll see you then."

Wilson sucked in a deep breath as he hung up and then let it out slowly. He had a feeling that Chase and House wouldn't be too thrilled with him, but it was for the best. They could just 'deal' with it later.

Technically, Chase was still his patient. And he could call in a consult if he wanted or needed to.

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	30. Chapter 30

It was definitely getting better. He woke up and blinked as the nurse turned the lights up. The pain was a manageable level today. It still hurt like hell, but he didn't want to scream, and he didn't feel the need to push the button straight off upon waking!

The nurse smiled at him and asked. "Would you like some breakfast? It's been a few days since you've eaten. You must be starving by now. And we'd like to get you sitting up today! Maybe even get you moving!" She brought a tray in and set it on a small table, carefully raising the head of the bed and arranging his pillows.

He was hungry, but certainly not starving. Pain had a habit of killing his appetite. But he knew he had to eat. "Is it safe, the swelling is down?" He asked.

She nodded. "The neurologist was here while you were asleep. He said last night that everything looked very good. He wants to look you over while you're awake, of course. But he said your prior scans and the things he's been looking over? He's very hopeful!"

He paused in his quest to get his arms to rest on the small lap-table. "Excuse me? What did you say?"

"The neurologist was really pleased with the progress despite the complications. Of course, you're not going to be off and running any time soon. And you'll need a great deal of Physical Therapy. But, we can start getting you to sit up and maybe even soon, put you in a chair and let you go for a spin. You'd like that right?"

Chase stared at her, she was way too bubbly and happy for this time of morning. "I don't remember being told about any of this..." He narrowed his eyes.

"It's on your chart..." She said, confused and a bit nervous. "Let me have another look..."

"Bring me my chart." He ordered. "I want to have a look as well."

"Um..." She frowned.

"I'm also a Doctor. I know how to read the bloody things." He said in annoyance. "And it is my right to know what kind of care I'm getting."

She hesitated a moment and then nodded, bringing the chart over and flipping it open for him. She held it so that he didn't have to exert himself.

He blinked to realize that it was already Friday again. He forced himself to close his mouth and read on, reading the notations. He pressed his lips together to read that Dr. James Wilson had been the one to write the orders. Then there was the Neurologist's name. Eric Foreman.

"Son of a bitch." He bit out. "They snuck up on me."

"Who, me?" House asked, reaching out to steal a piece of toast from Chase's tray. "Shoo..." He grabbed the chart from the nurse and waved his cane in her direction. "Go... scoot... off... You're not getting your claws in him! Find a cancer patient to maul. I think I saw a cute one down the hall. If you like the bald Patrick Stewart look."

She huffed and stomped out.

"Why do you do that?" Chase asked, raising a brow. "Actually, I've always wondered why you chase them away from Wilson. Now you're chasing them away from me... because?" He tilted his head.

"Because I've been Wilson's best man at his wedding, three times. I do not feel like making it a fourth. I'm running out of ideas for bachelor parties. There's only so many strippers that he's not seen jump out of a cake! I'm running out! Next time, I'm just going to bring out a sheep in a garter belt." He bitched as he sat down. His recliner was still in residence, Chase noticed. "So I need to save that for a special occasion."

"I have to protect Wilson from himself, otherwise the future ex-Mrs. Wilson will put her hooks into him and for the next three years I have to hear him whine about how she doesn't understaaaand him, and how she's not who he thought she was, and how she's trying to channnnge him."

"I thought he was dating someone?" Chase asked.

"He is, but that's... not the same or the point and I'm... let's not talk about that." He waved it away. "This one, I know won't work out long term, so I don't have to fork out any money or pseudo-emotional-support and beer later."

Chase didn't understand or buy it, but he let it go.

"So, why are you protecting me from their claws?" He asked, managing to get the spoon and fork unwrapped and attack part of a rubbery egg. He wasn't exactly graceful, since his arms were still feeling weak, so he pushed it onto the fork with one finger and then ate it.

"Because you're on the rebound, and they smell blood in the water. You're 'vulnerable' and 'weakened' and a hell of a lot nicer than I am. Not to mention that silky feather soft hair, and svelte body. And worse of all? You tend to smile. See, see, right there. That smile, right there.They take that as permission and consent. If you're not careful, you'll be in a new relationship without realizing it." House predicted. "And then, I'll have to bring the sheep out for your bachelor party."

"I'm not looking for a new relationship." Chase shook his head, contemplating the bland oatmeal. He looked for sugar and found it depressingly absent.

"That's good." House nodded. "Be sure to tell the next nurse that as they try to sooth your fevered brow."

He wanted to deny that any of the nurses had tried that, but then remembered that one kept trying to pet his hair. "Uh..." He frowned. "Maybe I should invest in that bodyguard after all." He muttered. "Can I have a tasar?"

House laughed and turned on the television and DVD player.

"Ducking out on Clinic duty again?" Chase asked, trying to drink his juice without spilling it all over himself. "I think I need a tippy cup." He bitched. "Or at least a bib."

"Always. I hate being around sick people. They cough and sneeze on you, and you end up wiping crotches..." He shuddered. "Of course, it's not like you ever see a healthy one. Or one you want to see. Oh no. And if a nice one does come into view? You're not allowed to do anything with it, because of 'ethics'. Nuh uh. I am not going down there. Today is 'STD day' I just know it." He leaned back in his chair and started the DVD from where he'd left it earlier.

"Okay, now what is this?" Chase asked, knowing it wasn't Deadwood, or Sopranos this time. Meaning that... did that mean that House had already watched them? While he was in and out during the week?

His lips twitched and said. "Oz."

Chase tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. "And that is about?"

"Prison!" House beamed.

Chase raised his brows as he saw the intro. "Not so much T & A as D & A?" He said as the naked man was thrown into solitary confinement.

House shrugged a shoulder. "It's a good show..."

Chase leaned back in his bed, watching as the guy in the wheelchair spoke philosophically about life in prison, and then read off about a prisoner and what his offense was and why he was there and how long he was sentenced. The show was drawing him in as well.

And then he realized that House had distracted him completely from what he'd been about to ask. He realized this as Dr. Wilson came in to make his rounds. And then he remembered. "Why was Foreman going over my MRI and CT scans and feeling me up in my sleep?" He asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

House folded his chair up and turned to look at Wilson as well. "What? And I wasn't invited? Wilson, you dog! If that is the kind of thing you were into, I could have hired male hookers instead of female ones. Or maybe a mix of them. Whatever makes you happy!"

Wilson fidgeted and blew out a breath of air, looking up at the ceiling. "I... asked him for a consult. He needs to look at you awake though."

"Without letting me know first?" Chase demanded to know. House leaned back in the chair, but had no unfolded the leg rest.

"I don't remember you mentioning this to me either." House said in a low voice. "Care to explain? You're starting to pull my stunts. You're infringing on my... is it trademark or copyright? I can never keep any of those things straight. You're infringing on my schtick! That works!"

"I was... concerned... and I know you were as well. And Foreman is one of the best. So, I asked him for a consult. I also had a very long talk with him, and he's not about to say 'I told you so'. He was concerned about your health. It's not a pissing contest!" Wilson defended himself. "All he wants is for you to feel better! He was also able to recommend a course of treatment to help bring the swelling down better. You're feeling better, right? I also called a cardiologist. I don't hear you complaining about that!"

Chase pressed his lips together and looked away.

"Look, I know you and Foreman have never been the best of friends. I even know that you two have butted heads before over... various... things. Each of you think little of the other's motives." Wilson waved his hand around, looking off to the side. "But you're both doctors. Both of you are good doctors. The best in your fields. And Neurology is his field. He was the best one to ask for a consult on the course of treatment."

"Fine." Chase bit out. "Did he have anything else to say?"

"Yeah..." Wilson nodded. "He said, he hoped you got to feeling better."

Wilson turned around and left the room, leaving Chase feeling guilty and unhappy.

House started the movie back up from where he'd paused it. "Don't you just love how he does that?"

"Does what?" Chase asked in a sullen manner.

"Make you feel like a misbehaving five year old. Make you feel guilty and like you should apologize or make it better somehow?" House finally unfolded his foot rest once more and got comfortable.

"We always wondered how he got you to do things..." Chase said lightly.

"Annnnnd now you know. Welcome to the club." He shook his head and stretched.

Only when the pain hit a six, during the second episode did Chase hit the button and go asleep once more. He was going to have to borrow this box-set. It was pretty good.

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	31. Chapter 31

"Are you awake?"

He heard the voice and recognized it instantly. Foreman. Well, he was listed as the Neurologist. So he was probably checking on him as a patient. But he still didn't like this being woken up stuff. They always had him sucking on the hose, or helping him move his legs and 'exercise'.

"I was." Chase muttered. "Not so much now..."

He opened his eyes and found him standing beside him. House wasn't there, but there was a cup and a wrapper that indicated he'd probably been there around lunch time, and had gone back to work. Sometimes, he did that. Work.

Chase scratched at the beard that was slowly growing and looked up at Foreman. "Good news I hope?" He was not sure exactly how to talk to him, after so much that had gone on. He'd ignored his advice and concerns and now look where he was? But he tried to keep pleasant and hope for the best.

"Pretty good." Foreman nodded. "The swelling is going down just as it should. You're already noticing that your arms are getting stronger, right?" He raised his brows. As he spoke he took each of Chase's hands. "Squeeze?"

Chase nodded. He squeezed each of Foreman's hands.

"Good good... There's still a bit of concern about your legs. But I'm... I'm hopeful. And your arms and hands are definitely regaining strength. I'm very pleased with that." He bobbed his head and came to the foot of the bed, uncovering his legs. "Tell me when you feel something."

He didn't ask 'if,' he said when, and that did sound very hopeful.

"I feel pressure." Chase had closed his eyes to concentrate as well as not put hopeful wishes into play. "In the big toe, right side."

"Just pressure?" Foreman asked.

"Just pressure." He cracked an eye open, worried.

Foreman smiled. "Good. That's all you should have felt. Now... tell me what you feel... when I do this."

"Hey!" Chase would have kicked him, but he couldn't move his leg much.

"That is excellent!" Foreman said in approval.

"That hurt!"

"Good!" Foreman laughed. "We want it to hurt when I stick you with pins."

"Arse." Chase smiled slightly.

"Takes one to know one." Foreman said childishly, grinning. "You're going to need PT, but other than that... I think you have a great chance at recovery. But you're going to have to work at it. You can't slack off."

Chase sighed and looked away. "Yes, I know."

"I know you know. But it bore repeating. I know PT isn't fun. Rehabilitation is a pain in the ass, and it can hurt and be daunting. But, we're all pulling for you. You're going to be all right." He was still smiling as he made notations in Chase's chart.

Chase took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I suppose I owe you an apology. I'm sorry that I was such an arse to you, when you tried to convince me to get more tests."

Foreman raised both brows and then nodded slowly. "It is... accepted. And not really necessary. Had a long talk with Wilson. He explained you'd already had tests, and had seen another Doctor. A chiropractor who hadn't seen anything either. Hell, I'd told you to go to one. You already had. So it isn't like my advice was any better than what you were already following... It was the LP contrast that showed the real damage. And we might not have automatically done that either."

"House recommended it to Wilson." Chase said quietly.

"Well, that's why he's the best Diagnostic doctor around." Foreman reluctantly admitted with a sigh. "The students may someday surpass the master, but not without a lot more experience. If you ever repeat that though, I will beat you down like a sixth grader on a Kindergartener. Not to mention, you already had back problems for so long, you probably couldn't judge how bad it had gotten. You knew it was worse, but not how much. You've never had a surgical procedure done, and its different being on the other side." He shook his head. "That's got to be scary all the way around, man."

Chase was silent as he looked down at his knees and played with a thread on his blanket.

"I don't blame you, and I'm not going to say 'I told you so'." Foreman said after a moment. "We cool?"

Chase finally nodded. "Yes. Thank you."

"You going to talk to Cameron soon?" Foreman asked, raising his brows and then starting to laugh as Chase wilted and groaned.

"Do I have to?" Chase whined.

"Not yet." Foreman chuckled. "But eventually. You know what you're going to say to her yet?" Foreman asked, leaning on the foot of the bed and re-covering Chase's feet.

"No, but probably something like. 'I'm sorry I was such an arse to you, but I really do not think we should be a couple again. We were better friends than lovers, and I need my space and breathing room. I thought I was ready for a commitment, but I was wrong. I felt stifled, suffocated, and I kept secrets from you. I can't lead you on any more, because unless I can be totally truthful with someone without fears and get over my issues with trust, then that means no relationship of that kind will work.'" Chase paused. "Only I'll probably stumble through it, sound like a true arse, and then end up fighting with her and then she'll cry and slam the door... so I'd like to put it off for a while."

Foreman nodded slowly and then tapped the footboard of the bed. "Hey, I get it man. At least you're realizing it now, instead of when you've been married three years and have a little Chase running around your heels who will have to spend the next fifteen years being passed back and forth between mommy and daddy."

Chase grimaced and nodded in agreement.

Foreman waved and said. "I have more rounds to make. You just rest and feel better. They're going to start weaning you completely off the morphine and put you on something you can swallow."

"Figured as much." Chase sighed and pulled on the remote cord, dragging it from House's chair back into his lap so he could watch television.

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	32. Chapter 32

Interlude 7

The door drifted shut behind Foreman and he leaned against the wall beside it. "Did you hear?" He asked Allison Cameron in a soft voice.

Her eyes were closed and her face looked pained, but she nodded. "Yes. I heard." She cleared her throat and rubbed her face and then under her eye. "I only wanted to know the why of it. I already accepted it was over. Despite what people think. I just wanted to make sure he was okay."

"Wonder what secrets he was talking about." Foreman said quietly.

"No telling." She admitted. "There were a few nights he'd go out and wouldn't tell me where he'd been. He'd come home smelling of... I don't even know. Incense? Strange smells. Sometimes cigarette smoke. Once of alcohol. If I asked, he'd say he went with friends that I don't know. And then avoid me for the rest of the day. I was trying to find out, hoping he'd tell and trust me eventually. Guess that wasn't ever going to happen."

"Guess not." Foreman said awkwardly. "But it sounds like he doesn't blame you, or anything. He's really not. I think he just realizes it's a bad... decision. He was wrong. And he doesn't want it to get worse and out of hand. I don't think he wants to hurt you."

Cameron nodded and turned around. "Doesn't make it hurt less. But that doesn't mean I have to make it worse and worse." She sighed. "I'll give him space and time... and maybe someday... we can be friends again. And that is what I really want. To have my friend back."

Foreman watched her go, shook his head and then turned to leave. He had his own rounds to finish.

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	33. Chapter 33

"I heard you had a visitor today." House said, sitting down without invitation. Of course, at this point there wasn't need. This room was almost as much House's as it was Chase's. House had a bag of food and a drink.

Chase's food was brought minutes before. But it barely had a smell to it. And he found his mouth watering for whatever smell was coming out of the bag. And he didn't even like fast food! But anything at this point that didn't taste bland and lifeless was heaven sent!

"I brought you one of these..." House offered up one of the wrapped tacos. "According to your chart? They're very close to giving you a suppository. This? This is much much better. Less invasive and tastes so good. If this doesn't get you moving, that means it's time to get out the high pressure hose!"

Chase winced at the thought of the nurse shoving anything up there and grabbed the taco. "I'd rather try this." He admitted, biting into the food and closing his eyes in bliss. Taste! Real food! Oh, joy! His mouth was happy.

And House was laughing at him.

"Shut it. I've had nothing but hospital food the last couple of days." He smiled around a mouthful of meat, cheese, lettuce and tomato.

"Now you know why when I was in the hospital I kept demanding people get me 'real' food." He ate his burrito and swiped the remote before leaning back in his recliner. "Now, how did your visit with the Bobbsie twins go?"

Chase frowned. "Cuddy didn't visit?"

House choked on the bite he was trying to swallow and spent a few seconds pounding his chest and then sucking down his cola before laughing. "You are doing well, young padawan"  
Chase was just glad that House seemed to have gotten over whatever aspect of Chase making him proxy may have put him in a snit. But then, House seemed to move through emotions faster than... a very fast thing?

"I think I need to lower the medicine, definitely. Brain is foggy. And noooo idea what you're talking about." Chase shook his head and finished his taco in another couple of bites before he asked. He wiggled his fingers toward the bag. "Anymore?"

Reluctantly, House handed him a burrito. Then held the rest of the bag protectively against his chest. "I'm talking about I heard Foreman and Cameron were here earlier."

Chase shook his head. "Just Foreman." He frowned. "Who said Cameron was here?"

"Uhhhhh..." House frowned. "Patricia told Betty who told Brenda who told Cuddy who told Wilson who told me. He said she said that she said that she said that Patricia told her, that she saw Cameron outside of your room, and Foreman coming out after a visit. And that she looked slightly upset?"

"No, it was just Foreman. That came in. It's possible she was in the hall." Chase winced and then grimaced and then covered his face. "Ack."

"What? Burrito and taco already working?" House asked.

"Nooooo... Foreman asked me about Cameron and when I'd talk to her and what I wanted to tell her. I think I may have told her without knowing it." He sighed, and then took another bite of food.

"Sneaky. Wonder how they learned that?" House sipped his cola and went to the DVD menu.

Chase went with impulse for once and threw a diced tomato at House's head.

He blinked and then picked up the tomato and tossed it back at Chase's head. "Keep it up, and I'll take Oz home with me and you can sit here and be bored."

"I need some crossword puzzles." He muttered, biting into the burrito and grumping at the world.

"Just relax, if she heard you? It saves you one of those stomach churning, furniture throwing fights that comes with breaking up. It's out of the way, and now you don't have to have it weighing on you. Unless you're changing your miiiind." He sang the last word.

"Not changing my mind. There just had to be a better way of... telling her the whys." He wiped his hands on a cloth left for him by a nurse earlier.

"Well, I find that having Wilson tell people is much easier. He can tell you that you're dying, and people take it well. He can at least tell them 'Greg is an ass.' Or in your case. 'Robert is an ass.' So next time you feel like you can't break up with someone? Hire Wilson. He has very reasonable rates!"

"You're here... again... still?" Wilson asked, as though speaking of him summoned him.

"Damn, that's timing. Isn't it?" House asked and then turned to Wilson. "What?"

Wilson looked around, a bit worried. "Why are you here? It's... after five? You're usually first out the door. Since I drove you in, I expected to see you drag me out the door."

"I've already been gone and back. Oh... you need these." He said, reaching into his pocket and jiggling Wilson's keys.

"You stole my keys?" Wilson snatched them back and shoved them into his pocket.

"They're going to let a nurse shove a suppository up his ass. Have some compassion! I got him a taco and a burrito..." House explained.

Wilson tilted his head. "From your favorite place? That should do it." He admitted, nodding.

Chase looked up and cleared his throat. "Yes. I think things are going to move soon." He could feel his stomach turn a little bit.

House snickered.

"So are we going?" Wilson gestured at the door.

"We were just starting an episode of Oz. Sit down. We'll order pizza later!" House tapped his cane on a chair. Wilson raised his brows and gave House a measuring and contemplative look. Then he looked at Chase and slowly sat down.

"We'll leave in an hour or two." House said, tapping the toe of his left sneaker against the bottom of his cane which was laying along and between his legs.

"Okay." Wilson said carefully. "What are we... doing?" He asked.

"We're visiting." House explained carefully. "And my DVD player is broke at home." He added.

"You broke my DVD player?" Wilson asked.

"Huh?" House paused, straw between his lips and giving Wilson a confused look.

"Your DVD player is MY DVD player. You broke it?" Wilson asked, rubbing between his eyes.

"Noooo." He denied. "I didn't. Steve did." He qualified. "But he didn't mean to. The wires were taunting him. That one was certainly calling him names!"

Wilson slumped down in his chair and groaned.

"Shhhhh... He's trying to make up with his prison boyfriend." House shushed Wilson down.

"His prison... okay." Wilson looked up to see one of the characters try to convince another to take him back.

"I'm torn between thinking he's better off without that bastard and thinking it's sweet." Chase sighed. "He's such a manipulative jerk. But he's happier with him than he is without. Loves him anyway."

House shrugged again and shook his head. "Some of the best relationships were built originally on lies. Theirs has the benefit of the truth coming out and they work through it. But they'll probably never work out."

"Why?" Chase asked. "No happy endings? And personally, I'm sick of a relationship with lies and secrets. Too... stressful. I'm not allowed much stress for a while."

"Not in this. Not to mention the whole... they're in prison and probably going to get killed eventually, bit." House wasn't sure what was going to happen, but he doubted it was going to be nice. The series seemed pretty nitty gritty so far. "Relationships based on lies and secrets are just way too much work for me. Relationships in general have been way too much work. Hookers on the other hand? Easy! All I need is Wilson's credit card number."

"Soooo in a perfect world you both would root those two on?" Wilson asked carefully, trying to avoid looking at them. "And I need to cancel my credit cards tomorrow..."

"Why not? As long as it was a perfect world, and you didn't have those pesky arrested for murder issues in the background." Chase rolled his eyes. "Just because I was almost a priest, doesn't mean I'm closed minded."

"He's pretty open minded." House agreed. "You'd have to be, in his line of work."

"His... line of work?" Wilson asked. "Intensivist? Surgeon?"

House paused, then nodded. "Yep. Have to have a very open mind to do that kind of thing."

"Uh huh." Wilson wasn't buying it. Chase was looking up at the television with a concentration it probably didn't truly warrant.

After a moment, Wilson asked. "What about you, House?"

"What about me? Do I have an open mind? Be specific?"

"Do you have an open mind, I guess." Wilson asked, holding his hands up, almost in surrender.

"Nah, I never think outside the box. You know me, traditional to the bone. Married by twenty five. Two point five kids. A dog in the yard, a cat on the stoop." House toasted Wilson with his cup. "Never deviate from what they taught us in medical school. Go to church eeeevery single Sunday. Never a fucking profanity across my lips. And of course, must avoid the porn. It's evil!"

Wilson rolled his eyes and looked to where Chase was laughing into his hand. Trying to keep from jostling his chest or back too much. "Oh, stop... hurts..." He tried not to laugh.

"Okay, so I guess it's safe to say you're not traditional. But that doesn't tell me your views on things like... homosexual relationships and stuff." Wilson insisted.

"Pleassse... Just think about it. I guess this is about me calling someone a homo once? Do you think I'm a racist?" He asked.

"No." Wilson shook his head.

"But? I say racist things?" House pointed out.

"No, you say things that racists say. Usually to either be a jerk, or to make a point. But you don't believe that stuff. You also make Jew jokes. And we've been friends for years." Wilson shook his head.

"Annnnd I make homo jokes as well... so by that logic? What does that tell you?"

"That you probably are just being a jerk or making a point when you do that too." Wilson smiled slightly.

"Do you think I like women?" House asked.

"That's a giant 'duh'." Wilson laughed.

"Because of the comments I make about them, right?" House asked. "Not to mention, pretty sure Stacy was a woman."

"You can't go one day without making a sexist comment." Wilson pointed out, starting to laugh again. "I'm surprised you've not been fined or sued for that more often."

"It's because I'm just so gosh darn charming, they take it as the compliment it is meant to be." House swore. "Now... think hard... but how often have I made similar comments about... men?"

Wilson stopped to think and then nodded. "Um... a lot? But you also talk about seeing Hookers a lot too."

"I've never said they were all women. I'm not saying they aren't either. Besides, there's such a thing as 'Bi'. Not that I'm saying that I am. So, if you know I like women because I sexually harass them. And compliment them by making sexist comments. Then how come you don't apply the same logic to any other circumstance. Maybe instead of meaning it with the women, I'm just being a jerk like when I make Jew, racist, or homophobe comments? Not that we don't already know I'm being a jerk by being sexist. And that would also mean I'm also being a jerk to the men. Of course, it might also mean, I like women and men, and it could really mean I'm actually racist and... no wait the homophobe bit doesn't work if I like men... unless I'm self-loathing. Which considering I hate my dad who was a marine, that is possible..." He twirled his cane and smirked. "So... what have we learned tonight?"

"That... you're a big jerk and that we can never be sure what you really mean and what you are just saying to get a reaction? And that you love to confuse the issues?" Wilson squinted. "And you'll never give me a real answer to anything I ask, ever?"

"That works!" House grinned and tossed his garbage in the can.

"Never give a straight answer." Wilson muttered.

"Please stop giving me lines like that. The temptation is too tempting." House snorted.

"The one constant throughout everything. Is that House is a jerk. I think we can all agree on that." Chase said in a placating manner.

"At least some things can be depended upon." Wilson sighed, seeming happy. "The sun will rise. The day will pass... and House will say something socially unacceptable at some point in the day."

"I totally agree, Wilson! Fridays should be naked administrator day. I support you fully on that." House pronounced. "Oh, hi Dr. Cuddy, we were just talking about you."

Wilson turned around quickly, mouth open in protest, but she was already rolling her eyes. "Give it up House. You'll never get a piece of this." She drawled as she came to stand at the foot of Chase's bed. "I just came to see how Dr. Chase was doing. I didn't really expect there to be a room full."

"House insisted on visiting..." Wilson said, a bit amused.

"I miss the DVD player and recliner when I'm away." House said mournfully. "We're watching gay porn... pull up a seat!"

Wilson shook his head. "No no... It's a show called Oz. It used to be on HBO." Of course, as he was speaking, she turned her head and looked up in time to see full frontal nudity of more than one male.

"Seriously, there is a plot." Wilson was flushing and covered his face while sinking deeper into his chair.

"He's so deep in the closet, we're thinking of sending an expedition for him." House lisped.

"Dr. Chase... Security is more than used to removing House from different areas of the hospital. No one would think any less of you if you requested their services." Cuddy said sweetly.

"Actually..." Chase started and then smiled. "He breaks up the day. It's like having your own entertainment center. Plus he brought me a taco and burrito that... could someone get me a couple of really strong orderlies or something? Because I think they've done their job."

Wilson hurried, nearly running to find some help. House pumped his fist in the air and said. "Alternative medicine at work! Better than a suppository, less invasive than an enema, tastier than a laxative!"

Cuddy sighed and gave each man a put-upon look and finally nodded. "All right. Well, just behave yourselves. And stop watching porn in my hospital!"

She left the room just as two large men followed Wilson in.

It was an event to get to the bathroom, but it was so worth the effort and he felt it was progress.

Now if he could just learn to walk on his own again!

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	34. Chapter 34

Wilson visited him early the next morning, smiling. "Well, you're going to be pleased to know that you could do your PT on an outpatient basis." He had his hands in his lab pockets and was fairly bouncing on his toes. He paused and frowned. "I thought you'd be happy to hear that."

"I probably would have been, under normal circumstances." Chase leaned back against his bed and stared up at the television. He was re-watching an episode from the other night, since he felt bad about getting too far 'ahead' of House. It seemed an unfair advantage because House had to work during the day at some point. Whether he wanted to, or not.

The Oncologist figured it out a minute later. "I'm sorry. I just... forgot. I'm sure some arrangements can be made." He held up his hands.

"Let me guess, long term care or a nursing home?" Chase asked bitterly.

"I think they prefer to call it something else these days. Rehabilitation and Recover Center, or Assisted Living. I'll look into it. Don't worry." Wilson assured. "I'll work something out."

"Hospital insurance covers it, right?" Chase asked, a bit worried. Despite his father passing away, he'd not gotten a large inheritance like so many thought. They forgot, he had a stepmother and most didn't realize he'd had step-brothers and step-sisters. They got the lion's share, since Robert and Rowan had not been getting along at the time of the Will. Not to mention, they actually lived in Australia.

"I'm sure it does." Wilson assured him.

"Does what?" House asked, limping in and poking Wilson in the side as he passed.

"Cover his stay in a long term care facility. Rehabilitation and Recover?" Wilson explained. "He doesn't have an apartment or house. Nor does he live with anyone to help him when he's at home."

"Sure he does." House argued. "All his crap is still in my apartment. That constitutes living there." He plopped down in the recliner and grabbed the remote. "Gimme that, you don't know what you're doing. And I've seen this one." He went to the menu and changed it.

"House, he needs someone to take care of him." Wilson glared at House.

"Make it sound like I'm helpless, why don't you!" Chase protested. "I'm not, you know!"

Wilson realized that it could be construed as an insult to Chase's pride and held up his hands in surrender. "I didn't mean it like that. I mean, you need assistance. Someone to help you cook, clean, adjust until you've made headway in your physical therapy and can do it yourself. To be there if there are complications in the middle of the night. It is the same for everyone. You need someone there with you, you can't be alone."

"I did it." House said faintly. "After I demanded to leave, after Stacy couldn't bear to stay any longer... I was there, alone."

"I also helped." Wilson pointed out. "Which is how wife number two finally got fed up with me."

"Yeah and screwing around on her had nothing to do with it? But yeah, she pretty much despises me. But you also had a job." House acknowledged with a nod of his head. "It's not unknown. He's not helpless. And I usually make it a point to go home. That's the beauty of minions. They do the work in the middle of the night. Besides, he won't get to watch the rest of the seasons if he doesn't go back to the apartment! You can't be that cruel. The man needs his drama-television! I've addicted him to it! It's my duty to keep enabling! Eventually, I want to get him to watch General Hospital."

"As you're so fond of saying, you can't lift up on anyone if they fall to the ground." Wilson argued. "For once be reasonable."

"Me, reasonable? You might as well ask me not to breathe!" He paused and then said. "For once put yourself in his place."

House raised his voice. "You have no idea what it is like to be trapped in bed. Unable to get up. Unable to move on your own. Wondering what the hell next week would be like. Knowing that you're going to be alone as soon as the 'hired' help has gone for the day. Being trapped in one of those damn places sucks. It's so damn... clinical." House sneered the word. "You can't honestly relax! People can walk right by your room and stare at you like you're some kind of... exhibit. No privacy. He'll end up going Against Medical Advice by the first week! Just like I did! I'm responsible for his condition right now. His shit is in my apartment. I'll hire that damn housekeeper you had a while back, or a new one. I could use someone to dust anyway! I found a dustbunny yesterday that nearly tore my throat out. Vicious little things. I'm too afraid to look under the couch, they may have formed an army by now!"

Wilson had taken a step back, holding his hands up again in surrender while Chase stared at House.

"You're not responsible for me." Chase said quietly. "I'm responsible for myself. No one is responsible for me. I don't want to be dependant on..."

"I made the decision. What happens, happens as a direct result of what I said and ordered." House continued to argue. "Any complications stem from that decision. You made me responsible by making me decide. And... if you stay with me, you'll be less dependant on someone than if you're in that facility!"

"That's true of any patient." Chase shook his head. "You're not going to invite them all home with you. Why in the hell are you taking this so... personally?"

"Hell no, I'm not going to invite strangers into my home. Because I don't know them! I don't want to know them. But unfortunately, I've known you for four years now! I already know you. I'm already in too fucking deep! And you had me make the decisions. And I've... been... where you are. And the one that made my decisions took off and left me to deal with the consequences!" House thumped his cane on the ground. "I'm not going to do what Stacy did! If you're crippled, because of me, then... at least till Rehab is done. And I'll grant you far more independence than you'll find from the nurses and aids in Assisted Living."

Wilson rubbed his hands over his face. "I knew that was going to come up." He sighed.

"House, I don't hold you responsible." Chase told him. "But I do appreciate that you... offer... even if it is misguided."

"You're not there yet. But you will be. When you're laying there, in the middle of the night, and you realize that your whole world is composed of one room, and that you are totally alone? That you have no where to go, and won't for a while? That if you try, they will stop you at the door. I had one face to look forward to. His. It was the only thing that kept me halfway sane. If you're in another facility? When are..."

Wilson seemed to be pleased by what House was saying, as well as a bit sad. And House had trailed off. "When are we going to have time to visit? It's... a good point." He sighed deeply.

Chase looked down and away, imagining what it would be like. There was a tiny part of him that pointed out, he could have made up with Cameron and she probably would have took care of him. He'd have had a place to stay. But then? Then he imagined how she would be 'overly' caring. Imagined the looks and the way it was a few weeks ago. Not to mention, the whole 'leading her on' bit.

Wilson frowned and said. "How about this? He's got to have Rehab anyway. We... bring him into work... drop him off, and then let him... when it is over... he can hang out in my office or your office, or the conference room? And the we take him home with us?"

Chase snorted. "Sounds like parents taking a kid to daycare during the day."

"Us?" House asked.

"Who do you think will be driving?" Wilson rolled his eyes. "Don't even try to tell me, that you're not going to call me every morning wanting a ride, breakfast, and help getting him in and out."

"No, wasn't about to say that. I was just was going to surprise you. You ruined the surprise." House told him.

"Chase? It's your decision." Wilson told him.

He pursed his lips and looked down into his lap and then he finally nodded. He didn't want to be in a facility. He didn't want to be upstairs with the 'old' people. He wanted to be around people he knew. His stuff really was at House's apartment. And if he had complications, House was at least a good doctor.

"Okay." He said taking a deep breath. "But I'm not smuggling the DVD player out in my bags for you."

"Don't worry about that." House said. He paused. "We're putting it in Wilson's briefcase."

Wilson groaned.

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	35. Chapter 35

The discharge was technically any time after noon. But since Wilson and House didn't actually get off work until about five, Chase stayed put until they were ready to leave. With a bit of help, he'd managed to get dressed. And he found that he was to wear a brace for a while.

About six weeks, a while!

It wasn't the most comfortable thing, but he did find that it made it easier to sit up for extended periods of time.

His legs still weren't wanting to really move as he wanted. But the therapy should help. At least, that is what Foreman kept telling him. And he hoped that was so.

He was sitting in the wheelchair, and practicing trying to move it when they finally came to 'rescue' him. "Um..." He looked to where two people he didn't know was standing just slightly behind them.

Wilson held up his hand and shut his eyes shaking his head. "Just... I know nothing about this. I don't want to know... No one tell me anything!"

House poked him with the cane, making him move, as the two men behind him grabbed the recliner and moved it. Then House went to the DVD player, snatching Wilson's briefcase. "Don't worry, I won't. After all, it's not like you've ever been an accessory or an accessory after the fact. Your innocence is assured."

"I can't believe you're actually... no I can believe it. I just don't want to believe it." Wilson covered his eyes. "Any way I can talk you out of this?"

"I'm just... borrowing it. For educational purposes." House told him. "I'll bring it back... someday."

"When?" Wilson asked.

"When it stops working." House told him, pulling out Wilson's paperwork and shoving it to the side as 'useless'. "Hmmm... you need a bigger briefcase. You'd think with as many patients as you have, that you'd have a bigger briefcase."

He shoved all the papers back in, out of order, as Wilson cringed. Then he snatched the laptop case from Wilson's other hand. "No no no you can't..."

"Here hold this..." He shoved the laptop into Chase's hands. "Open it and pretend you're studying something."

He pushed some stuff around and then slid the DVD player into the laptop case. "I'm glad you got the large screen." He said in approval.

"Yes, House. I was thinking of your ability to steal when I picked it out. I thought, I should get the biggest one possible, so that when House wants to use the case to steal things, it'll be a good size!" Wilson snarked.

"I knew you cared." House smiled, zipping it up and putting it in a cart that a nurse was bringing in to load Chase's belongings.

The nurse returned and was about to take the handles to push the wheelchair when House used the cane to move her out of the way and take them himself. "Wilson will take the cart, and I will push this. I don't trust you not to run off with him. I've seen how you looked at him when you were giving him that spongebath. I thought I was watching a scene from Sexy Nurses Three. Only... without the sexy part."

She glared at him and he could see her face going red. House just pushed past her, putting his cane in the seat beside Chase, the handle sticking up. Then he used the wheelchair for his crutch.

Crossing her arms, she walked behind them. Far behind them.

Chase was trying desperately not to smile. Wilson meanwhile sighed and pushed the cart. "Why do I let you order me around?"

"I suspect you have domination and submission issues. But you're too chicken to hire a real Dominatrix. So you make due with a bossy misanthrope." House told him. "That and I'm cheaper as I give out abuse for free!"

"House, you are anything but cheap or free. I spend more money on you, than I did my last wife."

"Yeah, what does that say about you?" House asked, while Wilson pointedly ignored him.

"I'm just glad he doesn't have a shotgun." Chase said in the ensuing silence. "I think he'd carry one and threaten the nurses any time they got near you or I."

"I refuse to be a best man again. For anyone. So no one is allowed to get married. Ever. Again. It's better to kill all hope, then to let them think they have a chance. So, I take it upon myself to save you from yourselves. Because neither of you can help yourselves. With those cute boyish looks, and deceptively naive looking facial expressions. Not to mention the fact that you both fake sincerity and kindness very well."

"I don't fake kindness." Wilson protested.

"Notice you didn't protest faking sincerity." House snorted in amusement and pushed the door-open button on the elevator so that it wouldn't smash into them all as they loaded everything and everyone into it.

Wilson rolled his eyes and shook his head, pushing the cart in and sighing. "So you're just being a humanitarian and saving us from, what exactly? Happiness? Satisfaction?" He shut the door and pushed the lobby button.

House rolled his eyes. "Yes, because you've been so happy and satisfied so far with your choices. Look, the truth is? If you really wanted anyone? You would see them. Whether I protested or not. You'll get 'around' me. If they scare off that damn easily, then we know they weren't right. It's the ones that stick around despite and in spite of me, that will be worth it. If it makes you happier? Consider me the 'final test of durability'. If they can handle having me in your life? Then they are a winner. Because three wives now have hated me. And all of them cite me as the reason for their discontent on some level. And they obviously had no staying power. I'm like... the final Boss at the end of the last level of a game before going on to the final challenge and winning! They go through me? They can win the game and go to the... cue dramatic music? The altar of DOOM!"

Chase laughed into his hand as the elevator opened and House hit the 'door-open' button. Wilson let House and Chase go first, and then went out himself.

The nurse that had been silent, probably still pissed off at House, closed the door after them and apparently considered 'near the lobby' close enough to having done her job, because she stayed in the elevator. Letting the door close over her disgruntled look, and taking her back up to the other floor.

Wilson parked the cart and hurried out to get the car, leaving House and Chase waiting near the door.

"There should be room for you to move the wheelchair around the apartment now. Had some stuff moved." House commented as they waited.

"Yeah, I was just wondering something. Where am I going to sleep? I imagine the couch is not exactly compliant with..." Chase started.

"You have a bed. It's a single. But you have a bed. Don't worry about." He pushed the chair forward as Wilson came back in to get the cart. He opened the door to the back seat, and then watched as Wilson helped first get Chase in, and then pack the trunk.

"You could help you know." Wilson pointed out.

"I am. I'm supervising. Which is a very difficult job. Don't forget to lay the laptop case flat..." He nodded to the case.

Wilson sighed and then reluctantly put it in the trunk. "If I get asked, I'm totally rolling over on you. You will be the one to get into trouble. Not me. I'll say you... blackmailed me... or something."

House rolled his eyes. "You worry too much." He scooted into the car, pulled his cane in and then closed the door. "It's all right."

"You're stealing." Wilson hissed as he got behind the wheel of the car.

House sighed. "Would it make you feel better if I told you that Cuddy already knows?"

"She does?"

"I didn't say she did. I asked if it would make you feel better if I told you that she did." House clarified.

"Does she?" Wilson asked. "Because, if you tell me she does, I'm going to ask her to confirm. And then you are outed. So think carefully before answering."

"You are absolutely no fun." House glared at Wilson. "I oughta let you do just that. In fact, I will. She knows." He grinned. "Go ask her tomorrow."

"Don't think I won't." Wilson warned, but he looked to the side. Chase could imagine what he was thinking. Was it a double bluff? Figuring he wouldn't bother because he really had, or that he wouldn't really ask, because he didn't want House to really get into trouble? Once more enabling him?

Either way, it wasn't Chase's problem. He still had the real laptop beside him. It had been turned on and he smiled slightly. "Your laptop's battery got hot." He shut it down with a couple of clicks.

"It does seem to run hot." Wilson agreed. "I keep wondering if it is getting too hot, or if that is just the way it runs."

"Yeah, but I felt it, on my lap." Chase grinned. "And I feel pin pricks. And I can feel cold. And pressure..."

"You sound like a little kid." House commented, but there was the barest trace of a smile.

Chase wanted to reach out and tug on House's hair, but that truly would be something a little kid would do. He stuck his tongue out silently, knowing he wouldn't see or know. But at the last second before drawing his tongue back in, his eyes met Wilson's in the rear-view mirror. Wilson smiled and returned to looking at the road in front of them.

"Is he making faces behind my head?" House asked, looking at Wilson who was still smiling.

"Would I do that?" Chase asked in a lofty tone.

"Yes. You also like to balance pencils on your upper lip. I completely believe that you'd make a face behind my back." House said reasonable.

Chase pursed his lips and glared at the back of his head, looking around himself until he found a sales slip from the grocery store. It had fallen into the seat at one point and the edge was sticking out. Chase pulled it out, tore a piece off before sticking it in his mouth.

A second later, House grabbed the back of his head, pulled it out of his hair and then turned around to stare at Chase. "Did you just honestly throw a spitball at me?"

Chase folded his hands in his lap and looked up at him. "Well..." He shrugged. "Don't kids do that kind of thing?"

"Only if they want grounded!" House threw it back at him, and it stuck to Chase's forehead.

"All right you two." Wilson called out. "Settle down, don't make me turn this car around. And you can forget about pizza unless you two behave! Don't make me call... my mother." Well, he couldn't really call their mothers. Chase's was dead. And House's was a topic best not brought up.

"Please don't. We'll be good. She's better at guilt than you are." House sneered as he turned around in his seat and glowered.

"Who do you think taught me? I grew up feeling vaguely guilty for breathing." Wilson snorted as drove toward the apartment. "She's the queen of guilt."

"But, she's also the queen of home cooking." House said considering. "So it balances out. Wilson had a normal childhood." He explained to Chase.

"I figured as much." Chase nodded, watching the scenery pass by the window.

"I'm sorry that I'm better adjusted than the majority of the people you know." Wilson apologized.

"You're not better adjusted. You're a mess. You're just better at hiding it." House argued. "You just had a normal childhood, so long as you discount the queen of guilt. Nothing wrong with that. It's nothing to be ashamed of or embarrassed about. Only you would apologize for having a good childhood."

Wilson parked the car and turned off the engine. He just shook his head and got out after popping the trunk. He used his key to run the bags in first, as well as the potentially stolen DVD player, then got the wheelchair out.

Once more House was supervising. "Up, Simba... Up!" He waved his cane up, as they came to the point of trying to get Chase through the initial doorway into the hall. "Whooooa Simba..."

Wilson glared, but after a bit of maneuvering he got the hang of getting the wheelchair up the ledges. House led the way into the apartment and headed straight for the couch. Chase was surprised that the recliner wasn't actually there! He'd figured that the two guys were Movers or something, but, no recliner.

Wilson looked around as well and then eventually shrugged and shook his head. He pushed Chase further into the room and then toward the couch as well. Chase glanced around, frowning as he noted the differences. "Um... stuff seems to be... missing?" He wrinkled his brow in confusion.

"Not missing. Just... put up." House shrugged, taking the DVD player out and starting to set it up. "Condensed and put away, pushed back. Stacked up neatly. In other words... it's been cleaned." He said the word with a touch of disgust. Like it was something he hadn't wanted to be done, but had done it anyway.

But it wasn't just cleaned. Obstacles had been moved.

Before it was all right for someone on a cane. Now it was accessible for a wheelchair. Chase wisely left off asking any more questions, realizing it would just make House defensive. Instead, he asked. "So the dustbunnies have been killed?"

House nodded. "It was an epic battle. They had claws and fangs, but we had a dustbuster. We did battle for hours and hours... but eventually they surrendered. But we showed no mercy and took no prisoners."

"It sounds as though it were gruesome." Chase said. "I'm glad you all survived."

"And as the conquering heroes we are... we shall have take out." House pronounced.

"I'd still like to know where this 'we' stuff is coming from." Wilson sat down. "You sat there and watched everyone else and ordered us around while eating pretzels and drinking a beer."

"I was the General! You were my troops. I totally get credit. Just like they do in the military. You think they go running out into the field anymore? Hell no. They sit there and phone it in, and then they are the ones that get their names in the history book. So, it is considered my victory. My apartment. My victory. Now, scoot, you're sitting in my spot!" House smacked Wilson on the shin with his cane and then plopped down as he moved. He used the remote and then grinned. "Finally! Steve, you're still grounded." He yelled over at the rat. "But if you're good. I'll let you out tomorrow night. So long as you don't chew any more wires."

"We're not stealing any more DVD players." Wilson said darkly.

"How do we know we stole this one?" House asked.

"Because you hid it in my laptop case?"

"Maybe I just did that because it was funny to see your face." House chuckled.

"One day, I'm going to wring your neck." Wilson raised his voice slightly.

Chase chuckled and finally asked. "Wilson? Did you bring that down from Maternity for him to watch?"

Wilson frowned and shook his head.

"Then it isn't stolen. He bought the damn thing. He's playing us." Chase chuckled again, and moved the wheelchair so that it was flush beside the couch and facing the small television.

Wilson reached out and smacked House on the chest near his shoulder while House laughed with his chin toward his chest. "Youuuu bastard!"

House grinned. "Steve chewed the wires! Did you really expect me to go without entertainment until you bought a new DVD player for me to borrow?"

"You... BASTARD!" Wilson repeated, but his lips were twitching slightly. "You had me sitting here trying to figure out what the hell to tell Cuddy in case she found out! I was sitting here worrying! I ought to..."

"Order pizza? I agree." House said, elbowing him.

Wilson pulled the cell phone out, and ordered without thinking and then remembered Chase was there. "Anything special?"

Chase shook his head, shrugging. "Not particularly. Whatever you're having with the exception of anchovies."

"No, get him a healthy one. He's got..." House wiggled his finger toward Chase. "Get the one on the menu with the little heart beside it."

Chase groaned, looking toward the ceiling. "You fed me a taco and a burrito. Why can't I have a normal pizza?"

"That was for medicinal reasons. This is... I'm sorry. I was under the impression you actually went to Medical school. Did I misunderstand? You had a heart attack. Did you miss the memo?" House pointed out.

"You had an Infarction in your leg. Did you miss the memo that technically you should be eating healthy too?" Chase argued back.

"Do as I say, not as I do! Order the Heart-Smart pizza." House tapped the menu paper. Wilson looked from one to the other. "How about I just order two of them... and... we can all eat the same thing, equally."

"You ever get the feeling he's treating us like children?" House asked Chase.

"All the time these days." Chase said staring at Wilson.

"I'd like to change that order. We need two of your Heart-Smart..." Wilson started, but then suddenly he was having trouble ordering because House was trying to wrestle the phone away. Wilson shouted into the phone. "Thank you, and a tip if you... ignore... any more phone calls... from this location tonight." He struggled against House, trying to keep the phone near enough his ear he could hear the order taker.

Wilson pushed end and held the phone up. "Ha! I win!"

House glared. "I'm not eating it."

Chase sighed. "I'll eat it. I actually like it."

"Then..." House turned his glare around on him. "Why the hell did you protest?"

"Because you should eat healthier too." He beamed at him.

"You little bastard!" House gaped at him.

Chase smiled, watching the television and ignoring House until something hit the side of his head. "You just threw a spit ball at me?"

House made a childish face at him, sticking his tongue out and crossing his eyes. Chase's lips twitched and again, for a moment, it felt like it had that first year or two. He'd liked House, despite his attitude and personality. He'd found him entertaining. Before he'd gotten punched, and hurt by the fake brain cancer, and then being fired.

Of course, he could rationalize that he was detoxing when he punched him. That Tritter was screwing with everyone at that point. Making life hell. Trying to make people distrust him! And that he wasn't supposed to find out about the fake brain cancer. The firing thing? Mmm... that was still iffy, even with Wilson trying to make it 'better'. But he wasn't going to forget everything. He wasn't that naive, no matter certain 'facial expressions' he may be prone to.

But he let himself smile finally and laugh a moment before throwing it back at House. Who... ducked. "Sorry Wilson."

Wilson quietly removed it from the side of his face and tossed it into the waste paper basket. "No problem. I'm surprisingly used to this kind of behavior. Don't be surprised if he puts Saran wrap on the toilet."

"He already did." Chase told him.

Wilson let his head fall back against the back of the couch and groaned. "Then be careful of the hand in water thing, to make you pee yourself."

"Won't do that." House pointed out. "I'd have to clean it up this time. I might do the hot sauce in the toothpaste, but not for five more weeks." He held up his hand, showing all his fingers.

"So does that mean he's completely prank free for that five weeks?" Wilson asked, raising his brows and tilting his chin toward his chest, looking at him from an angle.

"I didn't say that, either." House held up a finger. "I'm going to rate the prank by the stress... and go from there."

"How... thoughtful..." Wilson said with a disconcerted look. "You're psychotic!"

"You do know, I went to a Boarding school at one point, right?" Chase told him.

"And that means what, exactly?" House asked. "That you've been wearing bad ties since you were a tot?"

"No... just that anything you can dish out? I can dish back." He warned. "If it is war you want? It is war you will get."

House's eyes glittered, evil within. "Sounds like a challenge, to me."

"Okay, you two. Now you're scaring me. Settle down, both of you! Or I'll send you to bed without supper. Meaning, I'll take the pizzas home with me." Wilson threatened.

"As if you would let Chase starve, just coming out of the hospital." House muttered as Wilson stood up to go pay for the pizzas. "And if they suck, I'm assaulting you with my cane!" He warned.

"It won't kill you to eat something healthy." Chase said in an even tone.

"Yeah, well I didn't want to risk it." House vaguely sulked.

The pizzas were brought back, and set down on the coffee table. Despite the claim to be 'Heart healthy' or 'heart-smart', the smell was enough to prompt House into reaching for the slice nearest him. He ate a couple of pieces while they watched the episodes.

Wilson checked his watch and stood. "So... are you two going to be all right if I leave now?"

House rolled his eyes. "Yes, mom. We'll be good boys while you're gone. You're safe to leave. You won't find our dead bodies on the floor in a pool of blood. Promise. If we kill each other, we'll keep it clean."

"Not a good way of making me feel relieved." Wilson muttered as he grabbed his coat and started for the door. "I'll have my cell phone on, as usual. If either of you need me. Call. I'll be right over."

Chase raised a hand and waved, waiting till the door was closed before saying. "Wow. No wonder you didn't really want him to move out. It's like... having June and Ward Bloody Cleaver taking care of you in one package."

"And he cooks even better." He nodded. "I swear, if I had parents like him? I would have turned out almost well adjusted and wouldn't mind visiting with them!"

Chase thought about it and then nodded, lifting a brow. "He'll make someone a good wife someday."

"I totally agree." House toasted him with the beer he'd managed to snag. He made Chase drink milk. "Someday, he'll realize that the reason he's such a sucky husband, is because he'd be a better wife. I'm thinking about getting him a frilly apron for his birthday. What do you think of pink?"

"Lavender. He'd look better in lavender."

"You have the color coordination of Ray Charles." House told him. "We'll go with large flowers. Classic."

Chase shrugged a little. "Then don't ask me."

"I've got to ask someone. I'd ask Steve but he keeps saying the same thing. 'Oh, whatever you think, House. Please give me more cheese.'" House raised his voice to a squeak. "He just uses me for my cheese."

"Where... is my bed?" Chase finally asked, clearing his throat.

"Yeah, you're probably tired. Come on... well don't look at me... all right." He pressed his lips together. "But tomorrow? You should be able to wheel yourself a bit more. Just as long as you know that I'm not your servant."

"As if." Chase snorted, shaking his head. "No worries there, mate. Just tonight. Arms are tired."

House slipped the cane once more behind Chase, pointing up and then pushed him. "Bathroom?"

Chase nodded and House pushed him there first, and then backed the wheelchair in. Chase was relieved to find the bars already in place and House pretended to be sorting the shampoo bottles while Chase relieved himself. Once he got back in the chair, House pushed him toward the bedroom. Chase narrowed his eyes for a moment, and then he understood.

The bedroom had been changed around. House's bed had been moved against the wall and into a corner. Chase's smaller bed was on the opposite wall.

"So we're dorm room style!" Chase said.

"And you're my roommate. Now, remember, no bringing back hot dates! Unless they have a sister! I have to share this room too. And keep in mind, exams are coming up. So no late night parties or blaring music. And if you need to stay up studying all night, use your bedside lamp instead of turning on the overhead. My early morning professor is a real bitch. But she has a nice rack." House said as he pushed Chase over to his bed.

"I think I've heard about her. Cuddy, right? She teaches... what again? Responsibility and Ethics?"

"Is that what she's trying to teach me? I thought it was Fashion 101. Hm... explains why I keep falling asleep in the middle of her lectures." House pulled the blanket back and offered his left arm for a brace once he locked the brakes. Chase pulled up and then shifted over. The bed was nicely firm, and he sighed in bliss. "Perfect." He lay down, and closed his eyes, only to be tapped on the shoulder.

"Pills first." House said, handing out the different pills they'd been given by the pharmacy. "I'm not having you die in my apartment. I hate talking to the po-po!" He said in a sarcastic manner. "And I'm not going back to the big house."

"Yes, because you were there, oh so long. You're such a hardened criminal." Chase sat up and took the pills and drank down the water as House took one of his Vicodin, laying down heavily in his bed and flipping the light out.

That explained the bed positioning... House controlled the lights.

Typical.

Chase closed his eyes and was soon asleep, lulled by the sound of Steve's wheel spinning in the other room, and House's deep breathing.

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	36. Chapter 36

It was to the sound of someone pounding on the door that he awoke. He blinked, peeking out at the dim light. What time was it?

Wilson opened the door. "House, it's time to get up. You want me to pick you up, then you have to be up and ready when I get here."

House mumbled something and dragged his pillow over his head. Chase carefully moved his legs to the side, and sat on the edge of the bed. He'd not taken the brace off, so at least he had that going for him.

But sitting on the side of the bed, he felt slightly dizzy. "Whoa... Chase?" Wilson had his hands on his shoulders. "You doing all right there?"

He'd been listing to the side and Chase gave a slight nod. "Yeah yeah... just... light-headed."

"It's a side effect of one of the medications. His blood pressure is lowered, when he sat up..." House was speaking from under the pillow. "It'll go away, eventually. What time is it?"

"Time for us to get to work. And to drop him off at Rehab." Wilson said.

"Mummmmm..." Chase whined. "I dun't wanna go to school today. I wanna stay home and make biscuits with you."

House snorted and chuckled under the pillow. "Damn you. You beat me to it."

"Being up-right and more awake does that for your timing." Chase told him while Wilson grabbed Chase some clean clothes.

"You didn't even put him in PJs?" Wilson asked.

House uncovered himself, revealing he was still fully dressed as well. Wilson sighed. "Why do I bother?"

"We have no idea." House grabbed his cane and grabbed a clean shirt. "But you wouldn't be you, if you didn't try."

He pulled off the old shirt, and almost threw it on the floor, but at the last moment went into the bathroom and threw it into a hamper there. He returned with the new shirt on and said. "I'm ready."

Wilson groaned and shook his head while Chase chuckled. He pulled off his own shirt, put the clean one on, and then ran into a problem with the jeans. House came over and asked, "Are you able to bear weight yet? Or do you fold like a slinky?"

"I... bear weight for a moment and then I fold like a slinky." Chase admitted reluctantly.

"Well then, we work with the moment. Wilson, play statue. Chase, pull yourself up gently... Wilson you make sure he doesn't fall and then slip them off your hips, sit back down, slide them all the way off. Slide the other up to about your thighs, get up again... pull them up... sit down and then fasten them. A few more times, you'll master your timing. If you don't... you're going to have a lot of bruises on your ass that, I'm just not going to be the one to explain."

Chase rolled his eyes, but did as House instructed only having a couple of false starts in accomplishing it. It was surprisingly easy, doing it as he'd described. He found he actually had time to spare before his legs gave up on him.

Then the transfer to the chair, and then the shoes slipped on. Velcro was currently his friend. Wilson brought Chase his coat and House rolled his eyes and shook his head a little before walking ahead of them to the car. He looked from one side to the other, then went around the edge of the building. Chase was in the chair watching Wilson try to figure out how to get him down without dropping him out of the chair when he saw House come back, holding a large thick metal lid. He threw it down with a loud clang on the stoop and then lowered himself to sit on the edge of it. Wilson hesitated a moment and then he eased down the makeshift ramp. Once he was down, House stood up, picked it up and disappeared around the side of the building once more.

"What was that?" Wilson asked.

"A ramp. We learn about those in High School. Did you sleep during that class?" House asked, opening the door and the sitting down.

"No, I meant where did it come from and what was it before it was a ramp." Wilson said, folding up the chair and then putting it in the trunk.

"It is multi-purpose. By night it is a dumpster lid. By day a ramp! It's a superhero! Have some respect! We'll paint a giant S on it later." House yawned. "Coffee."

Wilson agreed, and silently so did Chase. But when they got to the drive thru, House ordered for him. Fruit salad? Not that Chase didn't like it. But he didn't like that House didn't ask. "What if I had wanted a breakfast burrito? Or pancakes? And you ordered me orange juice?"

"Not my fault. It was the only thing on the menu that is compliant with your diet." House handed the things back to him, and then opened the medicine bottles, handing him back the pills he had to take. Chase blinked at him and tilted his chin up. "Maybe I wasn't hungry and just wanted tea?"

"Maybe you can dry swallow those and starve." House told him, turning around.

Chase used the juice, but only ate half the fruit salad. House's backpack was in the back with him, so he quietly slid pieces of melon into one of the smaller pockets. He put the garbage in the bag they all came with and smiled to himself.

At the hospital, House hung a small sign on Wilson's mirror so he could park in his spot and then got out.

"Dr. Chase, Dr. House... Dr. Wilson." Cuddy greeted. "You're all, almost, on time. Or rather House and Wilson are. Dr. Chase, you're not supposed to be here, are you?"

"Rehabilitation." Wilson explained. "We're just going to drop him off, and then get to work. I have clinic this morning. House this afternoon."

Chase took on a little boy voice and said. "And deen dey come pick me up at Daycare and we get ta make bisccies and choco." He batted his eyes. "And if I'm a good boy, I get a sticker!"

She looked down at Chase and raised a brow. "You have been around House far too long."

"There people go again, blaming me. The man is a smart ass on his own. He doesn't need my help." House assured. "Now, run him up to Daycare before the teacher gives him a demerit for being late. Otherwise, he won't get any milk and cookies after naptime."

With that, House turned and made his way to a different elevator, his bag over his shoulder. Chase smiled to himself again, knowing that... the pocket he put the melon in was the same pocket he kept his gameboy.

With him gone, Cuddy turned back to Wilson and Chase, shoulders squared and a forced smile on her face. "I... wasn't aware you'd be returning to House's apartment."

"He is such good company, I couldn't resist his offer." Chase dead-panned. "I didn't want to go to an Assisted Living facility or a center or whatever else they are calling it these days. Nor did I want to go upstairs to live on the long-term care floor. I don't dare ask anyone I know. They may read too much into it, or I might strangle them."

"Meaning Dr. Cameron or Foreman?" Cuddy gave a small delicate wince.

"Pretty much, yes. She might read too much into it. Foreman I might strangle if exposed for too long. Or he might strangle me. It's kind of a toss up." He admitted. "He's not exactly the 'helper' type. Beyond work, that is."

She nodded and put a hand on his shoulder as she passed. "Well, if you need anything, please let me know. Even if it is to torture House with more Clinic hours for him being a..." She smiled and nodded her head, chuckling.

"I think I can handle myself." Chase said with a smile.

Wilson's phone rang. "Just a... hm... House?"

Chase could hear his name and House's raised voice on the other end, and he put his chin to his chest, trying not to laugh.

"Chase? Did you put... slimy melon in House's backpack?" Wilson asked incredulously.

"Maaaaybe... I might have confused the bag for the garbage and his backpack... in a moment of..." He smiled and shook his head. "Maybe."

Cuddy chuckled low in her throat. "I think I get what you mean, Dr. Chase. I shall leave you to it then!" She walked away, laughing quietly.

"House? Just wash the case off a little bit. It's fine." Wilson sighed. "Yes I will tell him." He shut the lid on the phone and looked down at Chase. "He says, I will get you for that! The war is on."

Chase grinned and was happy the entire elevator ride to Rehab.

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	37. Chapter 37

WARNING: HERE BE CRACK-HUMOR (don't like, skip this part.)

His mood lasted as long as it took to get into the actual Rehab. Which was apparently... he had no words for what it was. He stared at the woman and blinked. "Say what?" He asked.

"Visualize the healing. Picture a white light, healing your spine and heart..." She told him, sitting on the floor with him.

"Um..." He looked around, trying to find someone to save him. "How about... not?" He asked hopefully. "Did you... perhaps escape from the psych unit?"

She laughed, finding it amusing and thinking he was joking. She reached over and playfully slapped his foot.

He was serious. His eyes widened and he looked over his shoulder, wanting Wilson to come back for him. Was he too far away to hear him yell? Damn.

Or, maybe this was part of the therapy. Freak him out, and he'll get better just to escape the crazy! Because there was a lot of crazy here. Right in front of him in a small perky package. Make it go away!

"Now, let's breathe in... and then out... close your eyes. Deep breaths." She told him, closing her eyes and smiling. "Breathe with me, isn't this nice? Feeeeeel the energy within!"

"Is there going to be any actual... physical therapy here today?" He asked, interrupting her breathing.

She looked up at him by opening one eye. "Well, first we have to set some guidelines and reach a state of relaxation. We'll do some low impact stretching exercises. And then we'll go over that which you're allowed to do for now."

"What am I allowed to do?" He asked. "For now, that is?"

"Well with the combination of your spinal surgery and the heart attack... I'd prefer it if you didn't go over a 3.0 on your METs on any activity. Your Metabolic equivalents." She explained in her perky little voice.

"And what is under a 3.0? What kind of things?" He asked.

"Well... um... walking. Which admittedly you're not quite up to doing just now. Standing. Sweeping... which if you can't walk yet, you can't sweep." She had the grace to wince a little. "Sitting. You can do a lot of sitting."

He nodded slowly, then looked toward the door. He wondered how likely it was that he could crawl fast enough to get through the door using just his arms before she noticed. The way she was watching him though? No, not likely.

"Uh huh." He said, his lips thinning as he considered his situation. "So... these stretching exercises, do what?"

"Strengthen so that when the time comes, we won't injure ourselves." She smiled, tilting her head and once more touching his foot.

"We..." He raised his brows, he worked to draw his leg back. It was hard, but he got it pulled a little bit away. "Doooo we have a mouse in our pocket?"

She giggled and leaned over, lightly slapping his leg. "You're so funny! We're going to have lots of fun together, I can already tell!"

And that is when he realized. Oh, my, god. She's flirting with me? Is there a politically correct way of saying I'm not interested without calling attention to it and making things awkward. He clicked his tongue. It was all over the hospital he broke up with Allison. Was he really that evil? He could... but... hm. He'd save that for last resort. Four options to deflect her. Mean, gay, dating a new girl, or chaste. Decisions decisions... He could try the truth? Well, this could be awkward.

"Huh, yeah..." He scratched his throat, looking down. "I think we should get the stretching exercises learned so I can practice them at home." And then maybe he could quit rehab and just work on it at home!

"Oh, you're just a real go-getter!" She said, smiling. She leaned forward and placed his legs where she wanted them. Methodically moving them and running her hand down to his ankles.

"Ah... couldn't you just... show me and I'll move my legs?" He asked, trying to be polite at the same time as shooing her hands away.

She smiled and fluttered her eyelashes. "Of course, I'm sorry. I sometimes forget about personal space."

"Yeah, that's... fine. Just... I have a very large... personal bubble. It makes me slightly uncomfortable." He said. That wasn't mean, right? That was rather nice. Nothing for Cuddy to lecture him about later?

She frowned sympathetically. He could almost see and hear the wheels turning. The look in her eyes. Oh no no no no... He held up a hand and smiled. "It keeps misunderstandings down. Sometimes, if you let people too close to your... um... personal bubble. They take that as interest, or that you're open to interest. It's just best to keep people, ah... a bit further away so they don't misunderstand and think you want something more when you don't want to."

She bit her lip and tilted her head. "I do understand. I mean... who hasn't heard that... well you need time." She said carefully, she reached out a hand, but didn't touch him. Then drew it back.

He wanted to roll his eyes. But he kept his smile. Yeah, this was probably that 'fake sincerity' thing House was talking about.

"But you know, I'm a good listener and if you ever want to talk..." She said, still with the hopeful look. "You can call on me any time."

Last resort option was looking pretty good about now. But which option. Hm.

"No, it's all right. I've been through a lot of different things in my life. See, before going to medical school. I was in the Seminary. I was going to be a priest. Father Robert. And then, I lost my faith for a while, and went to Medical school. And then spent the next bit of forever, trying to find out who I am. I've been in many types of relationships and with many people. I'm still figuring out who I am, even after all this time. I think, what I need to do, is figure out who I am without wrapping up my personal identity in someone else. That pretty much means I might have a monk like existence for a while. Kind of quiet, by myself, and just reflecting on myself and what I want out of life." He smiled. "So, I'm just... not interested." He admitted.

Finally, a truthful answer! And he didn't even lower himself to lying.

He desperately tried not to laugh as she gaped like a fish. Mouth open. Mouth closed. Open. Closed. Then she gave a shaky laugh and looked away. "I'm so... glad... to hear that." She tried to sound just as chipper and happy as she had before, but it definitely sounded hollow.

From that point on, she was almost professional. Showing him how to position his legs and arms, by doing it herself first. No longer leaning over him and trying to touch him. She was still all 'imagine the energy flooowing through your legs, back, and neck' but she no longer giggled and told him how funny his comments were.

He was glad when House showed up to push him to his office. House looked at the therapist and said. "Oh god, you're still here? I thought your head would have imploded by now to spare us your idiocy, but I was wrong."

She narrowed her eyes and glared at House. Not an unusual response to him, but she looked so angry she was starting to shake.

"Thank you thank you thank you." Chase chanted as he pushed him out the door into the corridor. "Don't make me go back! I think she's psychotic!"

"Did she make you visualize your pain?" House asked in a perky and bubbly voice.

"And the healing energy." Chase confirmed.

"Double whammy." House made a face, grimacing. "That's about when I walked out on my Rehab after getting shot. Only lasted one true session. But you don't get that option." He was quick to say. "If you don't do your rehab, you will have no legs, and your heart won't get stronger."

Chase reached out to push the elevator button and made a face. "She was hitting on me."

"I told you." House said. "They're all on the scent. They're going to swarm! You're like a honey to a bee right now!"

House rolled him into his office, and then said. "I'll be back in about two hours. I'll come check on you before I do my Clinic hours. Right now, I need to go down and deal with my minions and the patient they're trying to kill." He said lightly. He shut the door behind him, and Chase heard an ominous latching sound.

He rolled to the door and tried it. Locked! He tried to unlock it from the inside, and discovered that somehow, House had disabled it on his side. He looked around, worried about what was about to happen.

"Oh, hell no!" Chase groaned as suddenly music was playing from somewhere close to the ceiling. It's a Small World After All. On a loop. Over and over again.

"House, you fucking bastard." He helplessly laughed, covering his ears. He rolled himself to the phone and called Wilson.

"House?" He answered cautiously. "I'm kind of in the middle of..."

"Save me. He has me locked in his office, with Disney music." Chase said desperately, but still somewhat chuckling.

"I... can it wait?" Wilson asked.

Chase held the phone up in the air for a few seconds and then brought it back to his ear. "What do you think?" He asked.

"I'm coming right over... hold tight." Wilson said without any more hesitation.

It was about thirty minutes though before he saw Wilson. Foreman was in tow and the other man seemed to be trying not to laugh. No, make that both men were trying not to laugh. Foreman bent down on one knee on the other side of the door and used some surgical tools, jimmying the lock. It snicked open and Foreman opened the door as Chase eagerly rolled out of the room. "Sorry, the balcony door was jammed on my side!" Wilson explained.

"Ahhhhhh, it's stuck in my head." Chase grabbed both sides of his head, as though to try and block it out. But unfortunately, the music was trapped within his head. Make it stop! Make it STOP!

Foreman shut the door and finally collapsed against it, laughing.

"Oh, shut it." Chase groaned, but then smiled a little. "It's seriously stuck in my head. It's a smalllll world after allllll." He sang and then groaned. "Someone help."

Foreman cleared his throat and forced himself to look serious. "I prescribe heavy rock, rap, heavy metal, or some form of alternate music. Listen to such for at least half an hour, making sure to finish each song. Repeat treatment as necessary until it is drowned out. If the condition persists... strangle House and call me in the morning."

Chase snorted and shook his head, ruefully. "Thanks for getting me out of there. I think I might have ended up flinging myself out of my wheelchair and aimed for the neck eventually."

"Well we can't have that. That would set your rehab back." Foreman said. He tilted his head a little and asked. "What is this I hear in the gossip chain though? I heard two things. One, that you are a father. And two, that you were going to become a monk?"

Chase broke into laughter while Wilson looked on in confusion. "Oh, I can't believe how... She's the worst gossip ever! Are we sure she's not on better drugs than House?" He asked.

"Okay, what did you tell her?" Wilson asked, still confused but also curious.

"I told her, I was going to take my vows and be a priest. Father Robert." He rubbed his face with his hand, laughing and deciding he really needed to shave tonight.

"Whyyyyy did you tell her that?" Wilson laughed a little, looking incredulous.

"Because, she was hitting on me. It was either tell her to fuck off, tell her I was gay, or... go with something that... shouldn't have bit me on the arse that way. I told her the truth. I wanted to find myself without worrying about... people hitting on me! But she's the worst gossip ever so I guess now I have an illegit child now?"

"Or that you're going to be a monk." Foreman nodded. "But considering which would be the juicer gossip? Yeah, half the hospital will now believe you're a deadbeat dad."

Chase laughed again, shaking his head. "You just have to love the gossip chain. It either gets it right, or totally wrong. Just depends on where it starts."

House hurried into the room, looking for Chase. "What the hell is this about you and I living together and raising your love child from Cameron?"

Chase this time gaped, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. "I... what?" He said, eyes wide.

"That is what I was wondering. Because I heard that one from the pharmacist. When I went to get my refill." House shook his bottle. "And how'd you get out?" He looked back at his office. But no one answered that part.

"Does no one here know anything about biology? I think someone would have noticed if Cameron had been pregnant. Besides, I'm supposed to be a monk." Chase shook his head, in awe by how screwed up this was getting. "This is bloody insane."

"They said you're going to leave me to become a monk. Because I'm destroying your will to live. If that was going to happen, it would have been your first year of Fellowship!" House shook his head. "What the hell did you tell that airhead? Couldn't you have just told her to fuck off and stop touching you? See, this is why I'm in charge of running off the tramps. I'm just better at it!"

"All that I told her was that I was going to be a priest. Father Robert. When I was younger and that I wasn't interested in her and was wanting to find myself! She was... trying to... touch me." He wiggled his fingers around. "And you never gave me a tasar!"

House boggled at him. "They got, gay couple with love child from chaste priest? That's it. I want a drug test on that hippy twit upstairs." He pointed up at the ceiling. "She's on something, and I want to know what it is. Because I want some!"

Foreman meanwhile was leaning over a chair, head on his arms as he laughed. He looked like he could barely hold himself up, laughing as hard as he was. Wilson also looked amused and kept trying to stop smiling.

The door opened and Cuddy stepped in, raising a brow. "House? Is there something you'd like to tell me? Who did you piss off this time? And why are they dragging Chase into the mire as well?"

"Me? I didn't do this! I'm the innocent bystander in this mess!" House protested. "Why am I always to blame?"

"Because usually if the brown sticky stuff is hitting the fan somewhere, you're the one with the shovel flinging it." She explained patiently.

"It's his fault!" House pointed at Chase. "All I did was go to talk to a patient. See why I shouldn't have to talk to patients? Bad things happen when I leave my office!"

"I think it is safe to say then that House didn't break you and Cameron up, take you for a wild night, break your back and then eloped with you. And now Cameron is dumping a kid on both of you to raise while she tries to heal her broken heart? And overwhelmed by his injuries he's going to join the brotherhood?"

House's jaw dropped. "Whaaat? I... I didn't... There was no... I didn't... I wasn't involved!" He started laughing, falling into a chair unable to stand anymore. "Oh. Fuck..." He hadn't laughed this hard in literally years!

Chase saw Cameron in the hall, and she had that 'you bastard' look on her face. "Oh, God I'm actually in hell! All I said..." and he yelled it so she could hear too. "Was that I was going to become a PRIEST, when I was younger! Father Robert! I was telling her that I was finding myself, and that I wasn't interested! So she'd stop trying to flirt with me."

Cameron rolled her eyes, shook her head and walked away, throwing her hands up helplessly. But she no longer looked pissy. Just vaguely amused.

Foreman finally slid to the floor, unable to breath, his eyes watering.

"I hope you suffocate." Chase called over to him, pouting.

Cuddy wiped a small smile off her face and said. "I will personally send a memo and an e-mail to all staff as well as correct any misconceptions in my hearing. As well as telling all Department heads to squash the rumors. I'm also going to fire Miss 'Visualization'. This is her second offense for malicious rumor spread. But I have to say, this was the most entertaining!"

With that, and still chuckling, she left the room.

Foreman wiped his eyes and looked drained, but still smiling. "Oh, man... I... I... I..." He giggled and waved a hand in front of his face. "Just proves, that telling the truth is not always for the best. Of course, then who knows what she would have spread about you. But... at least she's fired."

House sighed and said. "I'm mentally exhausted, and distressed. Woe is me. I can't possibly work my Clinic hours today. Woe. Woe, for I am working in a hostile workplace." He grinned and rubbed his hands together. "So I'll make one of the newbies work it, annnnnd I'm ready to go home!"

Wilson rolled his eyes. "You're going to start driving yourself... I'll drive you two home, and then tomorrow... drive yourself."

House made a childish face at Wilson, but gathered his bag and cane, poking Foreman in the side as he passed by. "Karma is going to getcha!" He swore.

Foreman just grinned and waved good bye.

He was going to be laughing about this, all night.

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	38. Chapter 38

The ramp-slash-dumpster lid did make it easier to get Chase up the small ledge up to the small corridor that let them into the apartments. Once in the apartment, Wilson left them on their own and House made a beeline for the... recliner?

Chase blinked. "Ooookay... how did that get here?"

"Furniture fairy?" House said innocently, unfolding the foot of the chair and getting comfortable.

He wheeled closer, and the around the back, and then came around the other side. "Huh... what does the furniture fairy look like? Or should I ask?"

"Don't ask. Then you don't have to worry about telling later." House assured. "Now, young Padawan, what did we learn today?"

"Never trust someone that tells you to visualize your pain?" Chase asked, serious, raising his brows.

"That and... it's better to... no that's pretty much it." He nodded, finally finding the remote. "Carnivale. Pawnshop is having a clearance on box sets. I got a lot of stuff for cheap. So useful living in an area with crack-addicts. They'd sell their mothers cheap for a hit." He explained. "I'll be entertained for weeks!"

Chase wheeled himself back to the other side of the couch and shifted around till he could lever himself out of the wheelchair and onto the couch properly. The brace forced him to sit up properly and with good posture, but because it held him in place it wasn't a lot of energy and didn't make him feel tired from it.

"Did you learn anything in class today? Other than that anyone can get a certificate if they give blow jobs to the right people?" House asked. Leaning forward, he tossed the remote on the coffee table.

"Not a damn thing. Other than some minor stretches I learned in grammar school." Chase rolled his eyes. "Apparently, the only thing I'm supposed to do for now, is sit, stand, and if I could walk? I could sweep a floor."

The older man was silent for a few minutes, waiting for the DVD to read. Then he looked over at Chase and then away. House stood up and moved slowly to the couch. After a few seconds, he vaguely gestured for him to give him his hands. Chase frowned, looking at the hands in front of him in confusion, and then looked up at House.

He didn't have his cane, but he was putting all his weight on his left leg, sticking his right leg out a bit. House made grabbing motions with his hands and then gestured 'up'. "Stand up... just... use me as a crutch for a second. And then, you're just going to stand." He prompted. "We're going to have you stand for... let's try half a minute. Start small and work our way up. No stress on your heart, but start building the muscles and stuff up. Get up here."

Chase didn't argue. Because it was more than he'd accomplished so far. The airhead in therapy had been absolutely no help. He put a hand on House's shoulder and tried not to put too much pressure on the other man. No need in dragging him down with him. But he couldn't really pull himself up, without using his arms. He ended up taking House's hands anyway, letting House pull his arms up and then putting his hands on House's shoulders. It was just one step away from the hug he'd given the other man once. Only he didn't wrap his arms around him. Merely used him to keep himself from falling.

He felt like a newborn deer. The idea apparently was close to the surface of House's thoughts because he said. "Wobbly ain't ya? I'd thump my foot, but I'll fall over. I'll start calling you Bambi."

"Please don't. Or people will think you really will be getting me that boob job. And let's not tempt fate with the rumor mill." Chase managed to stand and House silently counted, mouthing the numbers. He ended up sliding his arms more around House's neck, and House put his hands on his sides to steady him. He was starting to shake a little bit, but not in pain. It was simply that they weren't... they were twitching and didn't want to hold him. They were weak.

When he reached thirty, Chase sank down and sat. House sat down as well, resting his own leg and rubbing it.

"You have a point, god knows what they'd come up with then!" He said, referring to the rumor mill in general. He stretched his leg out and put it on the coffee table.

"Probably that instead of a monk, I'm going to be a nun!" Chase said thoughtfully, smirking a little. "Wouldn't want to make that a habit..." It was a very lame joke. But it was all he had at the moment. His legs were still twitchy.

House shuddered, after staring at Chase for a moment.

"You just tried to picture it, didn't you?" Chase laughed.

"That and that was a horrible joke. As for the visual? You do not want to go there. I may be scarred for life." House pronounced in a grave and haunted tone. "I need to clear the image out of my head."

He still was rubbing his leg and Chase frowned. It was hurting? Damn. "You hurt yourself helping me?"

Shaking his head, House gripped it, and rubbed harder. "No. It's been doing this all day." He grimaced and pressed his lips together.

Chase was quiet a moment. "I have a heating pad in my stuff, you're welcome to it. If that would help. You got your Vicodin refilled? That's what you said earlier."

"Can't have one yet. Already over the dosage. Believe it or not, I have no intention of killing myself." House grit out. Looking down, Chase could actually see what was left of the muscle contract in a spasm. He'd never been this close to House while he was having trouble with his leg to this extent. Usually he was across the room, or sitting at the table while House walked and paced.

"Muscle relaxer? TENs machine?" He was tempted to reach out and start helping to rub the leg. It looked painful. His own leg twitches were painless, just annoying.

"Don't have either here." He said between clenched teeth. "They won't just hand me the Muscle Relaxers because of the other things I'm on, not to mention the chance of my body becoming addicted. And the TENs machine has never been proven to be anything more than a placebo effect. Besides, where the hell do you even buy those things for personal use."

"Internet." Chase answered quickly. "They're popular in the BDSM community. Wouldn't hurt to try it." He pointed out. He opened his mouth to say more and then shut it, because it occurred to him he almost offered to call to have one brought over.

House had turned to look at him and then shook his head. "Gimme an hour, and I'll properly tease and torment you about that." He said. "I'll give it a pass for now. If I get desperate enough for shocks, I'll let you know."

"Let me... here. Let me lend a hand at least." Chase shifted closer and turned himself toward House. He frowned, watching the man's leg and wincing in sympathy. Whether House admitted it or not, holding him up could not have helped. He felt bad for not noticing beforehand.

House glared for a moment and then winced as another spasm went through his leg. He made a small noise of pain deep in his throat.

"Just close your eyes and picture that little massage woman Wilson hired, if that helps." Chase told him with a small grin, reaching out his hands and grasping the upper thigh in his hands. He could feel the thick scar under his fingertips, but more importantly, he could feel the tight knot underneath the scar and to the side. No wonder he had to rub so hard. It was under a lot of scar tissue! He put his weight behind the palms of his hands, trying to put as much into the rubbing as he could.

"I don't think that would be a good idea." House waggled his eyebrows. "You can't have sex for five weeks, and that would fall under the heading of 'starting things you can't finish'. Remember, I've warned you about that!"

Chase rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Funny... now... move your hands." He said as he concentrated on the massage. He remembered how it was supposed to be done, but it had been a long time since he'd had to do anything like that. And it was hard to get to the muscle underneath the thick scar. He also had to be careful not to dig so that it bruised. If he probed with his fingers, he'd do more damage than good. He frowned and settled into rubbing in a circular pattern.

His hands were starting to get tired, and his arms weaker and harder to control. He'd forgotten that his body wasn't up to task yet. He found himself leaning harder, using his weight to do the work for him, once his hands wouldn't move in a circle any longer. But just before his hands started to shake, House put his hands on Chase's and moved them off, slowly and almost gently. "It's all right. It's fine. It's... better. Just... rest."

"I'm not used to feeling like this." Chase bit out, sounding more bitter than he intended. He leaned back, letting his hands fall into his lap. He closed his eyes and then looked back at House.

"You'll get stronger." House told him, but he couldn't meet Chase's eyes. "It'll just take time. You'll quickly progress. And then you'll be fine. Tickity boo. Just fine."

But the conviction seemed to be missing from House's voice giving Chase pause. He thought over what he said, and the discussion that led him to staying here. He wanted to smack his forehead. But instead, he said, "You're right. I am. It's like this for a lot of people that's had the surgery and such. Every day, I'll be a little stronger." He said it carefully. "Tomorrow, I'll bug Foreman and ask him to help pick out a decent, non-gossipy-non-idiotic therapist and get to work."

House lightly rubbed his thigh, still concentrating on the television which was still showing the DVD menu. But he made no move to turn it on, and Chase didn't feel like trying to raise his arms yet.

Chase sucked on his teeth for a second and said. "It would be like this, no matter what. Because of the decisions I made over the last few months. If I had gotten the help I needed when it happened? I would be healing at a faster rate, and not as much damage would have been done."

He'd known for a while that House's leg hurt worse when he was mad, sad, or disappointed, or even guilty. His mental angst turned to physical pain. But then, he'd been around House for a few years, and had time to study the situation and put the facts together as time went by. When bad stuff happened in House's life? His leg got worse. And today, his leg spasms were so bad, that Chase could literally see the tremors. He watched as House reached up and rubbed his shoulder. "On the other hand, if I had realized how bad you were... I wouldn't have risked changing the water from hot to cold, and startling you. I say collapsed, but that is still a downward fall... you still impacted when you went down."

Closing his eyes, Chase remembered how he'd blamed House for that. He didn't realize that House may have blamed himself as well. That he thought it had contributed to the problem, making it worse. "Well, had it not happened, I would have fought you tooth and nail. It's in the past. No more blame from me."

He ran his tongue over his teeth and tried to think, looking down and off to the side. "I wonder how Cuddy worded the E-mail." He said thoughtfully. He couldn't think of any thing more to say than he already had. That it wasn't House's fault. That he had nothing to feel bad about. Chase wasn't blaming him. Okay the fall hadn't helped. But the problem was there. And he could have been knocked over in the clinic, fallen on a patch of ice, or his legs could have given out on him as they had been trying to all day anyway. It could have happened somehow.

"Probably something professional and strict sounding." House said, finally reaching over and grabbing the remote and picking an episode. "The school marm-Cuddy, I imagine. Though she may have gone with the Mother Superior Cuddy. Either way, it usually involves rulers and yardsticks."

House wiped his hand down his face and looked tired and worn. Chase hadn't seen him this close in a long time. He always seemed so vibrant and alive. Always animated. But, not tonight. He looked... run down.

Chase frowned and asked, "Your patient going to be all right?" He remembered now that he'd commented that he was trying to keep the newbies from killing the patient. But they'd left long before the day was over.

House nodded. "It was simple. I don't know why those idiots didn't figure it out. But I straightened it out before they could kill her. I think it might be time to fire people again." He put the remote down beside them and leaned back.

"I take it we're ordering out. Do you want me to do it?" Chase offered. He was struck again by how tired House actually looked. Like he was wrung out. Chase thought about telling him he should go to bed. But House would either agree, or dig in and refuse. And he honestly wasn't sure which way he would go. And thinking about it? He didn't remember House eating lunch, nor had he as yet.

"I'll even pay." He said in a light tone.

"You'll do that anyway." House softly snorted. "Menus are on the table." He nodded toward the small coffee table in front of them.

Chase scooted forward, and then scooted back after taking them in his hands. They were still tired, but he could once more get things to move at his will again. There were a lot of menus there. "You really don't cook, do you?" Chase squinted at one, and then looked at another.

"Not if I don't have to. And usually that is soup. I hate to cook." House nodded, leaning back on the couch. He looked toward the recliner, but he seemed to figure that was too much effort to move. So he put his other leg up on the coffee table and just made himself more comfortable.

"I'm surprised YOU haven't had a heart attack." Chase marveled as he went through them one by one until he found a place he could order from that would adhere to his new diet. "What do you want from here?" Chase asked.

"The number five." House glanced over and then back at the television. His hand was still on his thigh, lightly massaging, and he rotated his shoulder as though to work out a kink.

He ordered and then put the phone down. "You know, there is no way in hell anyone believed those rumors. So you know they were just... messing around as much as possible, trying to make them more and more outrageous." He told House. "It was like a Round Robin from hell!"

"Pretty much, yep." House agreed. "I would have done a much better job of it. Something simple, more likely to be believed, something that would hang around even after Cuddy put a stop to it."

Chase bounced his head from one shoulder to the other, agreeing quietly while thinking. Then he stopped, looked up and turned to House. "Then why don't we?"

"You mean, make up rumors about ourselves, on purpose?" House asked. "Why?"

"Why not? As long as they aren't illegal and won't lead to one or both of us getting our arses kicked or in jail? What does it matter? It'll just be for the shite and giggles of it. Whatever we make up will be far more tame than anything they would inflict on us during the regular course of just working there! And as long as we're the ones creating it about ourselves? No one should be harmed by it. After all, according to the rumor mill. You and Wilson have been a couple for years!" Chase raised a brow and gave him a challenging look. "Wanna bet I can make up a better rumor about us, than you could?"

"Wilson..." He shook his head. "Not touching that subject. I'm not going there. Nope. But I can tell you that we are not involved. But? You're on... I can so out rumor you!" House rose to the challenge.

Chase saw the spark coming back in House's eye and he felt a moment of intense satisfaction. The tired look had somewhat vanished from his face to a degree. His eyes were alive. And he just seemed more 'there'. "We'll see." Chase said, narrowing his eyes. Trying to look like he was taking it seriously and honestly challenging him. "We... shall see."

They shook on it.

For the rest of the night, while they watched different disks... Chase tried to come up with something 'good'. And by the slight smile on House's face, he was too. The fact that he stopped rubbing his leg for the night, was not unnoticed by Chase.

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	39. Chapter 39

The next day, House did drive after Wilson helped get his car out of storage. But it was an adventure getting Chase down off the stoop. At least, for Chase. Because, House got the ramp, and laid it down. Once more, he sat on it to keep it secure while Chase let himself wheel down it. He gave a small shaky laugh. "Okay... that was kind of fun."

"You never jumped bikes as a kid, did you?" House asked, amused that just a small jaunt down the ramp was a major event for Chase. But then, Chase hadn't been much into bike riding as a child. There had been other concerns back then.

"No. Can't say that I did." He admitted. House opened the door and Chase rolled up to the car, and then slid in. House folded the wheelchair up and shoved it in the driver's passenger seat before going around and getting into the drivers side.

That... was when the adventure truly started for Chase.

"Do you believe in a speed limit?" Chase hollered from the backseat, his hands braced on the seat in front of him.

"Do you mean like one believes in Santa, the Easter bunny, or God? Or do you mean like one believes in theories like quantum physics?" House asked, looking over the seat, raising his brows and giving him a questioning look.

"Watch the ROAD!" Chase waved his hands frantically toward the front of the car. "That way! Face that way! Watch the road!"

"Why? It's not going anywhere." House pointed out slipping in and out of traffic without any seeming concern. Now, Chase finally understood what Cameron had meant about House's driving.

"Oh, GOD! We're going to DIE!" Chase yelled, he squeezed his eyes shut and covered his head.

"We are not. Have a little faith." House told him. "Oh wait, you have trouble with that. Well, consider this a way of learning to believe in a higher power again. We're halfway there. You're yelling for him!" He told him. Then he looked back at Chase while asking, "Was that light yellow or red? I forgot to look."

Chase covered his eyes and did say a quick prayer, figuring it couldn't hurt!

No wonder House preferred the motorcycle, and that he could usually leave a lot later to get to work. The man tried to break the sound barrier every day.

"I want Wilson!" Chase finally called out.

"Is that like calling out, I want my mommy?" House asked, laughing and sounding surprised.

"I want him to drive from now on! I'll... I'll pay him! Gas money! Just... CAR!" He pointed and gasped before leaning back and covering his eyes.

"Would you relax. I saw it a mile off. I'm not going to get you into a wreck!" He promised. "Totally defeats the purpose. I'm trying to help you get through rehab and stuff, not make it worse."

He switched lanes smoothly, and while Chase didn't want to admit it, there hadn't been any sudden stops or starts. Just a whole lot of 'close calls' in his opinion.

"Can you just... slow down? A little?" Chase asked, trying to use his best reasonable voice.

"Time waits for no man. And I'm not going that fast!" House argued. "I'm going slower than an ambulance!"

"That's what you base your speed on? You're insane!" Chase yelled at him, covering his eyes again as he realized they were passing another car.

"Hey, no yelling. It distracts the driver! Me!" House said, switching lanes again. "And I'm a very good driver! I don't know what your and Wilson's problem is. They should install these with 'shut the hell up' buttons."

Chase just covered his eyes and spent the rest of the drive praying.

Sooner than it should have been possible he felt the car slow and eaaaase into the parking spot for Dr. Greg House. "Now you drive easy?" Chase asked.

"Hey, at any point, where you thrown around?" House asked.

"Well, no, but..."

"Then don't complain! You're in one piece. I didn't jostle you. And we're here! And tomorrow you can guilt Wilson into driving us. And we'll get a proper breakfast out of it, rather than peanut butter sandwiches." House said brightly, stepping out of the car and dragging the wheelchair out as well. He unfolded it and brought it around for Chase to slide into. Chase rolled it along, trying not to overstrain, but at the same time build up the strength that had left him.

"I was getting concerned." Wilson said, meeting them at the door, his hands deep in his pockets.

Chase glared up at them. "Don't you ever ever ever ever ever ever evvvvver... let House drive again."

Wilson looked up and then over to House. "House... what did you do?"

"Noooothing. I drove like I normally do." He shrugged. "I don't know what he's complaining about." He paused and asked. "Do you think my tires are speed rated?"

Wilson's eyes drifted closed and his lips twitched slightly before he asked. "Chase, are you all right?"

"He didn't hurt me, if that is what you mean. Scare the hell out of me? You bet. I will pay you gas money, if you will please please please pick us up in the morning." Chase told him, looking him straight in the eye. "I'm lucky I didn't..."

He almost said have a heart attack. But after the night before? He didn't feel it would be really fair. It would be far too close to the bone for all of them. "Need a change of clothes." He changed what he was going to say.

Wilson sighed and smiled slightly. "You don't have to pay me gas money. I'll do it. I should have thought of that, having ridden with House before. He makes you wish for a valium first. Or a blindfold."

"Hey!" House tried to look affronted. "I'm a very good driver! I drive better than both my parents, I'll have you know!"

"House, you're a maniac. Therefore, I can only conclude that either you are lying, or that your parents are hiding under assume names for vehicular manslaughter and more traffic tickets than anyone in history!" Wilson told him before getting behind Chase's chair and pushing him.

"You have an appointment with Foreman, and then the cardiologist." Wilson told Chase. "And then you can go and... I'll be kind, and you can sit in my office if you would like. I promise that I do not have annoying music playing today."

"That's all right. I can sit in the Conference room if you need your office. Or House's office, so long as I can get out again." Chase offered easily. "He was just getting me back for the melon." He gave his best winning smile.

"Are you two going to behave yourselves today?" Wilson asked, still a bit worried, turning to look at each of them. "I mean, I'm not going to have to leave a meeting to go rescue either of you?"

"Nooooo we're behaving today." Chase said. "House is a real sweetheart when he wants to be. He's been very kind to me."

House gave Chase a dirty look and then narrowed his eyes, tilting his head back and looking at him. "Oh. You're playing dirty... good one. I'll get one better on you, later."

Chase smiled, sweetly. "See, he's going to get me something better later. Isn't that nice?"

"You're positively evil." House told him. "Yes, put him in my office. He'll do less damage there."

Chase gave him one of those fake-innocent smiles that so many others believed, but House could see right through. "Yes, as soon as he's done with his appointments... my office." House told them both and then turned to venture into the Clinic where Cuddy was waiting.

"Okay, what are you two up to?" Wilson gave Chase a narrow look.

"Nothing." Chase smiled.

Wilson shook his head, took a deep breath, and muttered that he hoped the hospital was still standing by the end of the day.

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	40. Chapter 40

Wilson pushed Chase into Foreman's office. "When do you need me to come back for him?" Wilson asked, giving him a slight smile. "He has a cardiologist appointment in about an hour."

Foreman returned the smile and said. "A nurse could always take him up."

Chase shook his head. "No no no no... I'm starting to believe House about them being blood sucking vultures out to get me and drag me back to their dens and nests to devour me whole."

Foreman started to laugh, his mouth tightly closed, looking down. "Paranoia... I wonder if that is a new neurological symptom for you... I should write it in your chart." He threatened.

"You're not the one that's been petted, stroked, touched, fondled, cooed over, and had eyes batted at." Chase pointed out. "It isn't paranoia if they are really out to get you. I never realized the hospital was such a meat market!"

"Annnnd... we're the meat. The women in this hospital outnumber the men about two to one. Take out the ones that really are gay, married, or in a relationship and that drops the number of available single men down a bit more. Last survey said that there were more single women working here, than married ones. I hate to admit it, but... you do have a bit of a bullseye on your back."

"It's not my back its on." Chase said. "I think it might be a bit lower." He rolled his eyes.

Foreman laughed again. "You do know we have male nurses, right? Though, with your luck?"

"Would you stop laughing, you wanker!" Chase sputtered at him. "I need something to throw at you."

"Hey, it isn't my fault." He laughed once more. "And you'll be happy to know, there's been no more speaking of yesterday's rumors. Cuddy had it clamped down tight by the end of shift."

"Good good." Chase said.

"Just come back for Chase in about, half an hour." Foreman offered. "Or, as I said, I can have a nurse take him." He paused and raised a hand. "A married grandmother nurse!" He promised.

"That... might work." Chase said carefully. "Though if she pinches my cheeks and compares me to her favorite grandson, I might have to start beating people."

"Yeah, you're such a tough guy." Foreman snorted, not at all believing him capable.

Wilson departed, leaving them alone.

"Wilson called and pointed out yesterday that you're going to need a new physical therapist." He sat down, smoothing down his tie. "I've been reviewing our list, and I think I have a decent one lined out."

"It is a woman, but before you get nervous? She's not going to be hot for your bod." Foreman told him. "She's married and in a committed and loving relationship. She's a complete professional, and I assure you that she has no interest in touching you in any manner that can be seen as sexual. She's also traditional in her approach to physical therapy. I want you to give her a try. She can fit you in this afternoon if you give consent. Her name is Sibyll Cohen. She gets pretty good reviews from what I've read so far."

Chase kind of shrugged tilting his head to the side. "Works for me. So long is there isn't any of that 'see the pain' crap. And someone trying to get into my pants. That works for me."

Foreman nodded and made a notation. "Now, as I've told you before. I think you can eventually make a nearly complete recovery if you work at it. It will take time though. You'll be in the brace for at least six weeks to give the spine time for the fusion."

"Now, because of the condition of your heart, that changes some of the exercise parameters. Your recovery will be a bit slower than originally planned. But it is still something that can be dealt with. The important thing is not overdoing it, and listening to your body. You also need to be straight and up front with me whenever you experience anything out of the ordinary. None of that stiff upper lip crap. I need to know. I'm going to be working very close with your cardiologist, Dr. Turner. I've only met him once this week. But he's... he seems like a straight shooter. And he doesn't seem to have a sense of humor. At least, none that I could see."

"Exactly, how long will my recovery take?" Chase asked, looking down at his hands in lap. "I mean, really. Without all the pep talk about how it will eventually get there, and stuff. And what kind of... pain level... am I honestly looking at once it is as healed as it will get."

Foreman took a deep breath and let it out. Then he wiped a hand down his face. "The problem is, there was nerve damage. The question is, how much of it will be permanent and now much may recover. The therapy will help retrain some muscles to take over for some that may not recover at all. Pain wise? I think you'll be saved the extreme pain you would have eventually faced ten years from now. I think you'll have some pain. It is going to hurt at times, and be... a problem. And so it will be considered chronic. Your neck is still a point of contention, and while they realigned it, it was a manual re-alignment. Your muscles will need trained to try and keep it in place. Which, as you know, was the original point of the chiropractic therapy. The problem was, your rate of deteriorating was faster than the training of the muscles."

"Which I'd like to do some tests and see if there is an underlying cause. Like... checking your bone density, for one." Foreman continued. "But I somehow think that won't be the problem."

Chase nodded slowly. "You're talking around the issue of time."

Foreman sighed. "I can't really put a time table on it. The injury was a while back, and the quicker it is treated, the better the outcome and the quicker the person heals."

"I can bear some weight on my legs. But I still can't take a step." Chase said. "Is it still possible I won't regain motor control?"

Foreman finally nodded. "But, I think you will. It'll be about probably three months for you to really know how good you're going to do on this. In about twelve weeks, we'll know the state of the spine. Six weeks to take off the brace, at least. It could be as long as the full twelve weeks. And... it could be up to sixteen weeks before we're sure how much of the damage is permanent. Even if it was just the heart attack? You wouldn't even be able to go back to work for that three months. I just... we have to see how it is going to heal first, and as I said, I want to see if there might be an underlying reason."

"You don't know." Chase summed up.

Foreman winced. "The problem with treating other doctors is you just can't bullshit them, or sugarcoat. No, I just don't know. We're going to have to wait and see. One step at a time. Six weeks, brace comes off, hopefully. Twelve weeks, we evaluate your spinal condition. Three months we start charting things that aren't improved. By sixteen? We'll pretty much know. In the meantime, because of your heart... pretty much all you can do is try to stand, unless it is too much stress. And you'll have to have a Stress Test with Turner soon. And your stretching exercises, you need to keep those up. You'll have more activities added as the days pass. It's going to be a balancing act between knowing how much is too much and how much is not enough. And finding a happy medium."

"You don't know." Chase repeated. "That's the quickest way to say it. 'I don't know!'"

Foreman grasped his pen and pretended to strangle it. "No. We don't know... can I send you to torture Turner yet?"

"I suppose." He said blandly. "I wonder if 'he' knows anything."

"Is it still considered bad conduct to throw things at your patient?" Foreman asked.

"Depends. Are you House?"

He pushed a button on his phone. "Nurse Johnson? Please come get this patient." He let the button go and he continued. "Before I strangle him."

Chase smirked. "Can't do that. I'm an injured patient, I could sue you now."

"You're a pain in the ass!" Foreman strangled his pen again just as the door opened. "Nurse Johnson, please take Dr. Chase up to Dr. Turner? Thank you."

Chase heard the pen hit the door as it closed behind him. He'd take his victories where he could find them.

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	41. Chapter 41

Dr. Thomas Turner, is what the door proclaimed. Bright shiny letters. Obviously a new plate. The room as he was pushed inside still smelled of fresh paint, and nothing had dust. He was definitely new. Very new. He had to have been there less than two or three months, at most! All that was on his bookshelf were books. There were no photographs. No knick knacks. All that was visible that marked it as belonging to someone was the diplomas and certificates on the wall. And even then it was the name of the schools, and Thomas C. Turner name. There was absolutely no personality to the room. It might as well have been an empty office.

Chase smiled and offered his hand, trying to be polite to the man he'd not had a chance to meet as yet.

"I'm Dr. Robert Chase." He introduced himself and was disconcerted when the man in front of him only raised an eyebrow and then slowly took the hand for a moment before releasing it. He had the distinct impression that this man, did not like being touched. He also noted that the hand he touched was extremely dry and course. It was a bit like sandpaper. He didn't normally notice such things. Unless the palm was sweaty. And that was usually due to nervousness. But this man was already breaking any preconceptions. Chase found himself more nervous than the man across from him. The nurse departed quickly with a quick goodbye, eager to get out of there.

"I'm Thomas Turner." The man confirmed. He didn't offer any true greetings. Didn't expand on his presence. Just confirmation.

Chase looked him over and found him to be unlike what he'd imagined before coming upstairs. In his imagination, the man was probably in his fifties, probably around his height, gray haired, stern, and kind of like his father.

In reality? Thomas Turner was barely five foot tall. He also looked to be between Chase's age and Wilson's age. He was blond, blue eyed, and very fair and fine boned. But the expression was indeed stern, severe, and he didn't have a trace of a smile on his face. In fact, he didn't look like he ever smiled. Any delicacy that might have been perceived due to his structure, was completely absent by sheer force of personality.

Chase felt like he was being sized up as well, and probably found in wanting. Turner looked away, but only because he was going to his seat to sit.

Turner sat down behind his desk, and Chase realized that the man must have the chair set up so that it was raised higher to give him a better advantage to the person that sat on the other side. Because there was no way his feet were touching the ground. He was tempted to look underneath somehow. But that would definitely have been rude.

"I have been consulted by both Dr. Wilson and Dr. Foreman on your case." He told him gravely, folding his hands over the file in front of him.

"And?" Chase asked.

"You're an idiot." The man pronounced. Turner had an entirely blank and level look. He was serious.

Chase raised both brows, completely surprised that the man said such so bluntly. It was one thing when House did it. But he'd never met another Doctor who quite had such a bedside manner. He wasn't entirely sure how House got away with it without being fired. Did this man think he could, because of House's reputation? "Excuse me?"

"I did not stutter." Thomas told him, his face still severe. "You are an idiot. But, a cared for idiot. So I will do everything I can, to make sure you survive." He pronounced in a tone that spoke of boredom and hinted that he didn't really care personally. "But that can only work, if you are totally truthful with me. I can't care about your life, if you yourself do not. If you wish to die. May I recommend a bottle of pills? It's faster and more tidy."

"Is this because of the waiting so long to..." Chase started, trying to figure how how this relative stranger had come to these conclusions. He was also getting angry and had he the strength he may have jumped up by now.

"It is because you're an idiot. Pure. Simple. To the point. But don't worry. I find that most the people in this hospital are idiots. I haven't quite figured out how you all have survived to adulthood." Turner told him. "So you are at least in good company."

"You're a rude little bastard, aren't you?" Chase finally said after a moment of hesitation to pick his words. "Not exactly the way to win any friends, particularly on staff. And a great way to get sued. I don't see how you plan to stay in practice here."

"Yes, I am a bastard." Turner confirmed without a trace of a smile or any embarrassment. "And I'm not here to make friends. I also have my own team, as well. And they do the nice thing. If I get sued for my bedside manner, at least they are alive to have done the suing. If they die because they didn't listen to my advice... that was their problem. Or at least, it would be their problem, if they weren't dead."

"Ever heard the phrase you can draw more flies with honey than vinegar?" Chase asked. "Your team is probably going to beat you senseless eventually, even if you do manage to avoid the lion's share of patient visits."

"Ever heard, you can lead a horse to water but you can't make him drink? It applies to jackasses too. Guess who the jackass is?" Turner countered. "And it isn't me. Though I admit I can be the grand master of all jackasses."

"What do you mean precisely?" Chase demanded, his tone frosty. He was already ready to leave. This guy, was not funny. He was cold. He was deliberately insulting. And he was pissing Chase off.

"I mean, that we can do all we can, but unless you meet us halfway nothing is going to help you. You have to tell me anything and everything that happens that may impact your health. Dizzy? Tell me. See spots in front of your eyes? Tell me. Your jaw hurts? You tell me. If I say you go for this test? You go and you don't argue. If I tell you that you're on bed rest for a week... you don't move your ass from that bed." Turner laid it all out on the line. "I am not here to coddle you. I'm not here to pat your head and tell you that you will be all right. I won't tell you it is all right to cheat on your diet once in a while. I will tell you that you have a lot of heart damage. I will tell you, that you could very well have another heart attack within the next year. I will tell you, that if you do? Chances are, you're going to die. I offer no comfort. Just treatment and facts."

"Can you deal with that?" Turner asked at the end, folding his hands on the desk.

Chase was quiet and then he finally nodded. "I can handle that. But if you call me any more names? I am going to report you. I don't work for you. And I don't have to put up with it."

"Good." Turner stated. "Maybe by the end of the year, you'll still be alive. And as long as you don't act like an idiot from here on out, you won't be called one."

He pushed a button on his phone and said. "Eileen? Set up a stress test for Dr. Chase for tomorrow." He didn't other to say please or thank you. "Then come here and wheel him to... wherever he plans to go."

"I will see you tomorrow." He told Chase. "Or rather, someone from my team. I have more important things to do than watch you sweat."

Eileen was a serious faced woman. She looked near to Turner age, but there was the barest trace of a smile on her face. Her hair was black and fell to her shoulders, and her eyes were a deep brown. But for all the warmth they had, they may as well have been cold stones. And she wasn't a nurse, but another doctor. Probably, one of his team.

She creeped him out. Turner had pissed him off. Eileen creeped him out.

She didn't speak as she pushed him out of the room, into the elevator, and then after asking quietly where he wished to go... to the Diagnostic conference room where she left him without even a good bye. All in all though, it was a better interaction than he'd had in the last couple of days. She wanted nothing from him, and was creepy merely based on the fact she was so quiet and serious.

He made a face and whispered. "Yargh... creepy people in general. So glad I didn't end up in that department" He decided. With that, he rolled toward House's office. His plans for the fun of spreading rumors about House was for the day had been derailed by the meeting with Foreman and Turner.

Instead, he picked a book off House's shelf and started to read it. He really needed to get his hands on some puzzles.

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	42. Chapter 42

House arrived an hour later, and frowned at him. "What happened?" He asked, narrowing his eyes. He hadn't even sat down yet, just come in. He'd noticed straight away.

"How do you know anything happened?" Chase asked, not meeting his eyes and still reading the book in front of him, even though he'd been on the same page for at least ten minutes. He just couldn't seem to focus. Everything just kept rolling through his mind, over and over again. The things that Foreman said which were 'we don't know, but we hope for the best'. And the way Turner indicated that, well, it was all his own fault. Which, yes it was. But he'd gotten rather used to everyone being kinder about it. Even House had a different manner about delivering news than Turner did. People claimed House wasn't human, and that he didn't care. But... damn.

"Because, you look like someone kicked your puppy and then beat it to death in front of you before offering to make a coat out of it." House lumbered over to his chair and sat down. "How did the meetings go?"

Chase shrugged and didn't look up.

"Well, that tells me a lot." House mocked him.

"Foreman couldn't give me a definitive answer on anything, at all. Basically, it could be summed up to be 'I don't know'. And Turner is a bigger arsehole than you are." Chase finally looked up. "And one of his... partners? Is creepy as hell and could be the bride of Dracula."

House stared at him. "Turner?" He took a deep breath and let it out, giving him a considering look. "He's a bigger asshole than I am?"

After a moment, he affected a look that almost looked wounded. "That's... I demand a rematch or a recount, or something. How is he a bigger asshole than I am? I've been working at this hospital for years! He's only been here about a month or two, right? Because this is the first I've heard his name... here."

"Well, within the first couple of minutes, he called me an idiot. And he called me a jackass. And... okay so you've called me worse. But when you do it? I can laugh about it for some reason, or roll my eyes. Or... something. When he does it... I feel..." He shook his head and clammed up. "Never mind. It isn't important. He's just an arse."

"You feel like your father is berating you?" House asked quietly. "And that nothing you will do will actually be right by him? Even if you do it perfectly? He'll never care. And that he's devoid of any true caring emotion unless it is to mock you?"

Chase looked up in surprise. "Yes..." He frowned in confusion. "How...? Do you know him?"

"I know the type." House said carefully, pursing his lips in irritation.

"Yeah, well... the worst part was... all he did other than insult me, was tell me the truth without varnish." Chase grimaced, shaking his head. "It wasn't anything I didn't really know. I just hate having my nose rubbed in it."

"Scared you?" House asked and Chase winced and looked away.

"I have a stress test for tomorrow." Chase told him instead, rubbing his head, he felt a pressure in his head.

"Headache?" House asked.

"A bit, and I feel a bit lightheaded again... which apparently I'll have to tell him tomorrow. Or rather whomever he sends to do the test. Because he wants to know every little thing and ache and possible symptom I could possibly have. Oh, and Foreman wants to test me for things as well. To see if I could have an underlying cause for why my spine decided to fall apart on me before I hit old age..." He was bitching, and he knew it. "By the time they are done, they'll probably have taken a biopsy of every organ I have, drained me of nearly all my blood, and run me through every machine in the hospital! I hope to hell that it is covered by the insurance, because I can't afford this shite! I was cut out of my father's will! Or rather, he left me something all right. He left me with a pile of pictures, books, and stuff from my childhood. My stepmum and her kids got it all!"

He pounded his fist on the wheelchair's armrest in aggravation. It had been building up for months. And with the frustration and the aggravation? Knowing he wasn't working, and that since he didn't get hurt on the job he was pretty fucked in a lot of ways... trying to figure out how the American system worked sometimes was a big enough headache when you were healthy. Trying to figure out what your 'rights' were when you were 'disabled' and unable to work yet, was a nightmare. He hit the armrest again, and pursed his lips together. Impotent in his rage, as well as physically he withdrew into himself.

He once more clammed up and took a deep breath, putting the back of his fingers against his lips and propping his head up. Elbow against the arm of the wheelchair and staring at a spot on the floor. He'd often sat that way in the conference room, when he was considering something he didn't like, but didn't want to speak up.

Chase saw House rubbing his eyes and frowned. Chase felt a surge of guilt, because he knew that on some level House was taking it all too personally. Still blaming himself when he shouldn't. He kept telling House it wasn't his fault, but House seemed determined to make it about him. In recent weeks, he was reminded that he had liked House, a lot. Had cared about him. Had even shed tears for him in the past when he thought he was going to die, even if he'd denied it. That had been even after the punch, he'd been able to forgive him that eventually. Only becoming angry again after he'd felt betrayed and disgusted. After he'd been fired.

But he was finding it hard to take the firing personally anymore. In his own way, House was showing that he... the firing wasn't personal for House. Maybe Wilson had been right. House wasn't good at expressing himself in a way that didn't make him look like an arse. Instead of saying 'you're done. You no longer need me.' He'd said 'you're fired, either you've learned all you're going to learn, or you've learned nothing and won't.' Or however he'd phrased it at the time. If it was true, that the firing was 'releasing' him because he was ready, then that was actually a high compliment hidden in the insult. It was a lot to think about, really.

He hoped what he'd ranted about wouldn't make things worse. He'd only just now remembered how the other man's shoulder and leg were acting up. That he literally took the weight of his guilt upon his shoulders, like he had when he was hurting Wilson during the Tritter thing. He tried to figure out how to take it all back. He should never have opened his damn mouth in the first place. He wasn't a child that needed reassurance, damn it.

"Didn't mean to dump all that on you. I think it just got to me for a moment, how Foreman just doesn't know. And Turner is a cold son of a bitch. But it's all right. I'm over it. It's not a big deal. Turner is just an arse. A highly unprofessional arse." It certainly put House's unprofessional behavior more in perspective for him. House wasn't nearly as bad.

"And it is hardly your fault that they..." Chase gestured vaguely. "It's just them. Nothing to do with you."

"I know the type." House once more repeated, and his hand suspiciously went down to his leg behind his desk. With his other hand, he rubbed his eyes before looking down at the top of his desk. "When is your appointment with, Cohen? I did look up who your therapist would be, after yesterday I was curious."

Chase checked his watch and shook his head. He felt tired about now. He almost hoped all they would do was sit today. He was mentally drained and it was translating to physical. "In about an hour or so. It was the soonest she could get me in. Foreman said she was a good one though. Professional."

House nodded slowly, a contemplative look on his face. "I have to go pee." House abruptly announced as he stood up. Limping to the door, he turned to him and warned. "Stay out of trouble." Then he was out the door and gone, leaving Chase confused and surprised.

This time House didn't shut the door, and Chase's momentary worry passed as he realized he wasn't going to be shut in with torture-music. Of course, at this point, it might have at least cheered him up and gave him something else to think about.

Without anything else to do, he wheeled over to House's desk and looked around for something to keep him busy. Oh. Ipod. He quietly put the earbuds in and flipped through the music. He looked for something cheerful. He had a vague idea about changing out all the music for new music at one point. Minor prank idea for later! Plotting was a good distraction from his inner thoughts. Distractions, were often important.

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	43. Chapter 43

Interlude 8

"The Bride of Dracula is apparently at lunch." House said as he threw the door open and came to stand in Turner office. He'd noticed that no one was in the outer office, but he knew that someone was inside all the same. And had no one been inside? He would have broken in, snooped around and then would still have ended up with his answer. Either would have been good.

He paused, his hand still on the door as he surveyed the occupant in the room and pressed his lips together in a grim line. He suspected, but had still hoped it was a coincidence.

"Youuuuuu bastard." He hissed, pointing his cane at Turner. "You didn't tell me you were here! I ought to wring your little scrawny neck!"

"Well, if you ever came to meetings, you would have known." Turner looked up, looking vaguely bored and with one corner of his mouth turned up in light amusement. "It's not my fault you avoid them like the plague. No, I take that back. If it was the plague you'd seek it out and enjoy it."

"I oughta hang you off the edge of the balcony." House glared at him, limping closer to the man's desk and staring him down. "And then let go. Noah and I never did settle our bet on whether or not you would bounce or splat! I could always call him, and we could settle up!"

Thomas rolled his eyes, unimpressed. "I'd kick you in the balls before you ever got that far." He was writing notes on a piece of paper. "Do you have a real reason for being here, or are we just going to relive the past a bit more? Because if so, can we get on with it. I have things to do."

"Robert Chase. Leave him alone." House told him, still scowling at Thomas. "Assign one of your flunkies to him, and leave off. Find a new toy to break. May I suggest something from Fisher Price? Hey, do you still buy your clothes from Garanimals?"

"Um. Let me think... no. He's my patient. I can actually see him if I want. Now, go away..." Thomas shooed House with one hand and looked back down at his notes.

House, was not someone easily dismissed! He growled to himself, imagining using his cane as a baseball bat. Sure, Cuddy and others often tried to get him to go away. Or they outright told him to get out. But that was, as they say, different!

"No, you misunderstand. That was an order. I'm telling you to leave him alone. Stop calling him names. I'm the only one allowed to call him an idiot. I was here first! I have seniority." House told Turner. "You jackass!"

Turner got a very small vague smile. "Oh? Now, this is interesting." He played with his pen, and seemed amused. He looked up at House, eyes dancing in mischief. "This, is very interesting."

"I find it interesting that they allow you to drive when you're not even allowed on most amusement park rides!" House pressed his lips together. This is why he tried to keep any declarations or feelings to himself. Expressing concern for anyone always got him bitten on the ass at some point. Especially with people like Turner. Which is why he tried to always attack first, so he didn't have to defend. He was better at offense than defense. Even though he could be really defensive when it came to his personal life. 

"I'm calling your parents." He threatened, pointing at him with a serious look. "And they are going to ground you for a MONTH!"

"Go ahead. Good luck with that. They've been dead for the last six years." Thomas snorted in true amusement. He didn't seem to give a shit. It wasn't really important. It didn't matter. He didn't care. Even House would be upset if his mother died. If his father died on the other hand, he'd probably feel a bit like Turner. He wouldn't care.

Turner finally looked up in interest, and held up a finger. "Let me know if they answer though. I'd like to ask them a few questions about my supposed inheritance. As in, what happened to it!"

House paused, blinking in confusion. He'd not heard about that. Thomas didn't get his inheritance? Of course, he hadn't heard that Thomas' parents had died either! He frowned. "They have? How? What happened?"

"Eh, dad had a heart attack." Thomas shrugged, again not seeming to care. He looked back down at the desk, lightly tapping his pen against the top. He looked bored.

"Well, there's irony for you. Cardiologist has heart attack and dies. That's right up there with the Oncologist that dies from Cancer!" House snorted, because it was still kind of funny. At least, from that stand point. "But what about Aunt Mary? She was pretty healthy last time I saw her. Which admittedly was about eight to ten years ago. But she's younger than dad, and he's still kicking around. Unfortunately."

"She was in the car at the time. He was driving. There was a tree involved. The tree didn't survive either. The farmer was upset. He liked that tree." Thomas explained, closing the file he'd been writing in and put it in the drawer. He shut the drawer and looked up at House. "You'd know this stuff, if... like meetings... you attended family functions. We have them every two years, you know. Just to pass all the family gossip around and catch up on who kicked off, and who is still alive, and who is breeding. You've been written off as a lost cause."

House made a face. "Why should I? As soon as I hit the door, everyone is asking me if I have a girlfriend or plan to get married yet. Then they ask me how my leg is. Then they start bothering me with every home remedy and mind over matter pep-talk they can think of. Then, about an hour after the reunion starts, someone is threatening to call the police on someone else. I can have that here at home! I can have that working in the Clinic!"

Thomas made a face as well. "Yes. I tend to get that too. Though it is more, when are you thinking of getting married again? How are you feeeeeeling? And we are so sorry about Gerald and Mary's untimely passing. Personally, I say it was about time. As for the Clinic? I got that yesterday during my shift. Just because I told someone they didn't need a medical doctor, they needed a psychiatrist."

House sat down finally and pressed his lips together. "People are idiots."

"Exactly." Thomas agreed, propping his chin up in his hand.

They shared a sigh and shook their head, then House remembered why he was here and pointed at him. "Stop terrorizing Chase. That's my job." House told him. "You, are not allowed! I got here first!"

"Mmm, he's my patient, that makes it my job. He was given to me!" Thomas disagreed, he was looking amused again. And that irritated House more. Thomas smiled a tiny smile before asking, "Can't we just, share terrorizing duties? You've always been selfish."

"No. Because you're a cold bastard with no heart. At least, I have a sense of humor." House leaned forward on his cane. "At least, I can on occasion be taken out into public! You are the one that should only be released with a muzzle and a straightjacket!"

"I have a sense of humor." Thomas told him, raising a brow and regarding him seriously. "It's just very verrrrry dry."

"You're an ass."

"So are you." Thomas returned, nodding to the side and lifting his shoulder.

"You're a bigger ass." House snapped back at him, tightening his grip on his cane.

"Your ass is bigger than mine." Turner flipped the subject around with a smile.

"My rat has a bigger ass than yours, runt!"

"Oma liked me best!" Thomas smirked.

"Did not! She felt sorry for you because no one likes you! Do you remember when you were about ten, and we all got tired of your mouth? And about four of us grabbed you, tied you up, and hung you upside down until Aunt Joey let you down? I'm about to re-enact that moment." House warned, hands still tight around his cane.

"You and what army?" Thomas scowled, he leaned back in his seat and looked up at him. Challenging him.

"Wilson, Foreman, Cameron, and I might even get Cuddy to help. Not to mention my new team of weenies." House ticked off on his hand. "There's a flagpole out there, with your name on it. Think to yourself, wedgie from hell!"

"I'll take my chances." Turner smirked, shaking his head. "You're about as mature now, as you were then."

"I know you are, but what am I?" House stuck his tongue out.

Turner didn't answer, merely tilted his head and waited.

House made a disgusted noise. Because until Turner swung on him, he couldn't get away with beating the man to death with his cane. And he knew from experience that Turner never swung first. He never had. Turner would try to get him to swing first, and then he would have the advantage. And Turner was very very good at getting people pissed enough to swing on him. It was a family talent that many of them shared.

"I really really really hate you." House told him.

"I know. I can live with that." Turner smiled, almost sweetly. He folded his hands once more on his desk and seemed to be waiting for House to make the next move.

"I'm going to attend his appointments with him. He's not ready for an unadulterated and completely uncensored House cousin. He's used to dealing with me. And I've at least been somewhat socialized." House told Turner. "Despite what the morons around here think!"

"Awww, I hurt his widdle feelings and now you're going to protect him from the big bad doctor." Turner feigned a pout. Which was funny considering Turner was the size of some school children.

"No. You irritated me and I'm taking the opportunity as much as possible to irritate you in return." House spat. "It has very little to do with him and his feelings on the matter. But when Cuddy asks me why I've shoved you into the garbage can, I can use him as an excuse and instead of yelling at me? She'll spend an hour telling you off instead. I might even get out of Clinic duty for being 'so nice' to Chase."

"Tell yourself whatever you need to get through the day, Greg. I'll see you later. I have an appointment coming in. Scram or I'll call security." Turner opened another file and started paging through it, showing it more interest than he was House.

"Tommy, I'm serious. Keep it up, and I'll make your life a living hell." House stood up.

Thomas looked up at him and raised a brow, giving him another serious look. "You're about ten years too late. Please close the door behind you."

House tilted his head slightly and gave him an appraising look before retreating and closing the door behind him.

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	44. Chapter 44

House seemed more irritated upon his return than when he'd left. He'd also been gone a lot longer than it should have been to go to the bathroom. But Chase figured if he'd ask where he went, he wouldn't get a real answer anyway. There were times when 'I have to go pee' meant, I'm leaving and I'm going to do something you don't want to know about. Of course, at least he wasn't talking about buttplugs when taking off this time. So that meant that he probably hadn't been off to see a lawyer.

House sat down and sneered into space for a while before saying. "Your next Cardiologist appointment is tomorrow? I'm going." He tapped the desk, lips pursed in anger.

Chase blinked and then blinked again. "Um, why?" It was a complete surprise, really. It wasn't what he expected House to say or do at all. Was this because he'd been complaining? Surely, he didn't feel so guilty he had to take care of this too? He wanted to throttle House right now. Would you stop, already! He wanted to scream. But just as quickly as the feeling came, it washed away. Should he really be complaining if House was acting human? Especially toward him? Except, he didn't want human-guilt, human-responsibility, and those other things that annoyed Chase right about now. "It really isn't necessary. I can handle myself. I just had a moment of frustration, and now I'm over it. Vented, and it's gone. He's an arse and it doesn't matter!"

"Because, if he gives me an excuse to shove his head in a toilet, I want to be there to take it." House told him. Chase was surprised by the completely reasonable tone he was using. As though it made complete and utter sense. "I can't give him a swirly, if I'm not there to grab him by the scruff of the neck and drag him to the nearest toilet!"

"What the..." Chase gaped a moment and then scowled. "I don't need protection. Why the hell are you acting like I do? You're blowing this way out of proportion! I'm perfectly capable of fighting my own battles!"

He wasn't sure if he was insulted or just exasperated. He wasn't a dame in distress! He could take care of himself.

"I'm not protecting you." House spat, looking taken aback and irritated. "I'm looking for excuses to beat the shit out of the little twerp and get away with it. It has nothing to do with you! Not a damn thing to do with you! You're just an easy excuse to be there! If you're there, I can be there! If you're not there. I have no reason to be there. See, logic! At least, that is what I'll testify to at the trial."

Chase narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out what was going on. Before he left, he'd indicated that he didn't even know who Turner was. And now? Now he was angry. "You're pissed at him. Because... not me, then what? Why? Explain!"

"Because apparently there's still laws against murdering people, and it is keeping me from strangling him. Therefore I'm pissed. If they let me kill him, I'd be happy! I'd dance a jig!" House bitched. "Damn laws. There should be exceptions. This should be an exception. I should be allowed to strangle him with his own blood pressure cuff! I should be allowed to run him up the flagpole via his undershorts!"

"And what would be those exceptions? What did he do to you personally?" Chase asked, raising a brow. What the hell had this man done, to piss House off this much? "Why do you want to kill him? Why are you wanting to beat him? Did you go talk to him when you went to the bathroom? Because you didn't even seem to know who he was at first... And why go talk to him, if not because of me?"

"Because he's a little bastard. Literally. Did you see how short he is? Because..." He pressed his lips together. "It isn't about you... so don't think you're special or anything." He held up his finger and warned. "I'm not protecting you. I'm territorial and he's pissing on my territory. Pure and simple. I want him out!"

Chase continued to glare. What territory? Not him, of course. No... he surely didn't mean that. Why did he go and even meet with Turner? "What territory? You're being ridiculous and-and-and... you don't make sense!"

"This hospital! My life! Hell, this town! Pick one! I want him to go back west! Where he belongs! Or Mars. I kind of think he'd be better off on Mars. Just dip him in green paint first."

"You went up there because I told you he was a bigger arsehole than you are? And you were what? Jealous? Afraid of losing your title?" Chase asked incredulously. He was still trying to piece this all together. It didn't make sense. Usually when House didn't make sense, it was because there was something unknown going on in the background. And Chase was missing pieces to this particular puzzle. On the other hand, maybe he finally had that psychotic break everyone had always joked about. "You're mental!"

House pressed his lips together and tapped his cane against the floor, seeming to weigh what he wanted to say. He seemed to come to a decision because he said next, "No, because I suspected I knew the little bastard. I've heard the name Turner before in relation to Cardiology. So I went to see if it was true. That it was the same family. I suspected, and honestly hoped it was his father, instead of him. So I went to check. And as soon as I saw him, I knew I wanted to kill him. That bastard didn't even tell me he was here."

"You've met him before?" Chase asked in surprise. Now, everything made sense to him. That put everything nicely into perspective. "You know him?"

"You could say that. I saw the little brat when he was first born! If I knew then, what I know now? I would have told them to take him back to the hospital and switch him out for another baby! Refund! By the time he was three, I came to the conclusion he was the spawn of evil! By the time he was six... despite the fact that I was a many years older than he was, I wanted to lock him in a closet and lose the key. And by the time he was ten... the rest of us were actively plotting against him!" House explained as Chase's eyes widened. Good lord, who exactly was his doctor?

House paused and then growled. "He's my cousin. His mother was my father's sister. Mary House married Gerald Turner, and they created the Anti-Christ in the form of Thomas Cedric Turner. Tommy to all the fawning masses who didn't know any better. Meaning my parents, the other aunts and uncles, and of course the grandparents. They just thought he was, oh so adorable..."

"I'm..." Chase struggled to figure a way to express himself. Part of him, was now amused. Part of him was disconcerted. They'd had running bets years ago as to what formed House. Whether it was his father, mother, or some kind of evil gene that skipped generations until he was born with it. But they'd never been able to prove anything one way or another. "I'm sensing some severe family issues here."

"Oh, yeah." House nodded vigorously. "You bet. I suspect he realized who you were, and that you are staying with me. After all, the rumor mill has at least that right. Not to mention, it's probably in the records somewhere and..."

"He's targeting me, to irritate you? How does that work? It's not like you care if someone else is trying to torment me." Chase pointed out. He shook his head. "Unless he's under the impression you do."

"Because he exists! It's enough." House looked away, not looking him in the eye and grimaced. "It's him! He... He probably figures, yes, you're living with me. And I know you. And..." He gestured in a vague manner. "He'll take it. And yes, will be difficult. Just to piss me off!"

House was twisting his cane in his hands like he could strangle and kill Turner from here. "Besides! He isn't allowed. I'm allowed. He's not. He's not allowed to do anything. He's not allowed to be in my hospital! I really should go to meetings occasionally. I would have told Cuddy she was hiring someone in my family and she would have shredded his resume instantly with her claws."

Chase raised his brows. "Sure you don't want to actually pee on the hospital walls to mark your territory? Maybe rub your head on the furniture? Scent mark everything?"

"I'd rather throw him off the roof and be done with it. It would be wayyyy faster!"

"He really pushes your buttons." Chase said in disbelief. He almost smiled at that. He'd never seen House so... out and out angry. At least, not without a detox involved. He was almost devoid of snark at times. Like he didn't want to talk, but instead get straight to the beating!

House was more worked up than he had been with Tritter. And that man had been an arse. But then, House hadn't had the apparent family history with Tritter that he apparently did with Turner. Chase frowned though when he saw House wince and reach for his shoulder, rubbing it.

"So, you're going to my appointments to beat up my doctor if he gives you an excuse?" Chase asked, wanting to make sure he had everything straight in his head. "Because you're still mad at him from childhood? Can't you just snark at him like you do everyone else and cut him with your tongue?

"Yes. And no, because he's totally armored against it. He's built up a resistance. As though insults and sarcasm are an antibiotic he was exposed to from childhood for a cold, and now it no longer works." House said. "Now he's like one of those super viruses that can't be destroyed with a simple injection of verbal assault and must instead be destroyed by extreme measures. I'd expose him to radiation, but beating him would be far more satisfying!"

Chase pretended to think for a moment and then said. "No. You're not going."

Chase shook his head, even if there was a tiny bit of him that would enjoy watching House beat the little bastard up. Even though he would even like some popcorn and a beer, and cheer from the sidelines. Perhaps he could sell tickets? No, wait, bad Chase. No biscuit.

"No? Are you insane?" House demanded. "He's going to be a complete jerk to you. Just because you live with me! This is totally a good excuse for me to smack him around! No one would even complain! Hell, they'd probably think I was being nice to you!"

"No. I can handle myself, and now that I know that is his game. Nothing he can say can bother me. I can ignore him. He's after you, not me. I just won't let him use me as a weapon against you anymore. He's a... non-issue now. You'll have to find another excuse to beat your cousin up. I'm not providing it." Chase smiled slightly. But it was slightly a sad one. Because he realized that by ranting earlier, he'd done exactly what Turner had wanted him to do. That manipulative little bastard! He'd some how still fallen into the trap. Of course, that was before he knew that Turner and House were related.

House narrowed his eyes and gave him a considering look. Chase got a baaaaaad feeling that House was planning something. "House... don't do anything to get into trouble! We don't need you going to jail this year!"

"I think you should go to your appointment with Cohen early." House suggested, pointing at the door. "Just... go on. I have work to do. Shoo. Have fun! Tonight you can pick the movie."

Chase backed his chair up and rolled away leaving House to plot and stew. He was definitely worried now. House offered to let him pick the movie tonight? He was definitely up to something.

Chase also wondered just how insane the rest of House's family was. He also wondered, how much of Turner's behavior could be reflected in the rest of the family, and how much of it House may have come up against himself while growing up.

He doubted that House's parents were that cold and difficult. He'd heard from Cameron once that they seemed rather nice. That House had said that his mother was non-confrontational, and a normal housewife, as well as a living lie detector. That his dad was a marine pilot and was very much someone that had a very strong moral compass, in everything. Very moral. Strict.

That didn't actually sound like Turner. Turner was truthful, yes. But he was hurtful with it. Manipulative. And he was playing a power game with House. No... he doubted this was a parental thing so much as two people who hated each other as children, and continued to hate each other as adults. Two slightly childish and immature adults.

Any similarity between Turner and House was purely superficial. The only thing he could even say that was the same was they used the word idiot, and millions of people did that. And that they could be ranked as 'bastards'. But other than that, they were breeds apart.

This was a new puzzle... and Chase found that he was both intrigued and slightly scared to try to solve it. But solve it, he would try.

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	45. Chapter 45

Despite being told that Sibyll Cohen would be different from the last therapist. He'd still rolled up to the room with a bit of butterflies in his stomach. For a moment, he reconsidered going in. Considered just going down to the cafeteria and hanging out there for an hour before going back upstairs. But there was truth in that he needed to do his part, to get back up on his feet again and hopefully someday get back to work. He steeled himself and made himself hit the plate on the side of the door. Letting it open for him before rolling through, he paused as he saw her waiting for him on the floor on a large blue mat. There were already vast differences between her and the other therapist. The other therapist had dressed in what looked like exercise clothes, and kept her hair long and loose.

Miss Cohen wore regular scrubs and her hair was tied back in a professional manner. She didn't particularly smile at him. But she also didn't scowl or look as severe as Eileen and Turner had. She was nicely neutral. Comfortable. She could be someone's Aunt, she was that comfortable.

"I'm Sibyll Cohen, and you must be Robert Chase, am I correct?" She asked, rolling up onto her knees before standing up. She brushed her knees off and came closer, but she didn't loom or otherwise come within his personal space. Just close enough to be causal and have a conversation without having to call out or seem rude.

She was a bit on the short side, but solid built. Not skinny, but not really overweight either. She did have a bit of padding on her, enough to make her soft over the muscle. That she didn't wear any make up at all, no overt scent, and didn't seem to do anything more to her hair than pull it back told him she wasn't vain. She wasn't overly pretty, and she wasn't overly common. She was someone that didn't worry about what others thought about her looks. She was... pretty average really. In a crowd, he'd never have looked at her twice.

He liked her immediately. She was comfortable. She'd work!

He nodded finally. "Yes, I am. Dr. Foreman recommended you." He said, offering his hand.

She took it and held it. "Squeeze." She ordered, closing her eyes, tilting her head. 

Surprised, but also kind of pleased that she was getting right down to business, he did so. Then she asked for the other hand, and compared them. "Good good... equal. Still quite weak to where I want you to be. But we do have to build up to these things. Can you exit your chair and come to the floor? Or do you still need assistance?"

"I think I can do it... let me try?" He asked.

She nodded. "Of course. But if you feel a pain, or shortness of breath. Let me know immediately." She warned. "Also if you feel any other symptoms. I wish to know."

Chase found that moving the foot rests were the most difficult part of the operation. But once he'd managed to move them, he could slide down onto his knees first, and then scoot away from the chair. He straightened his legs as she watched and she nodded in approval. "Good. Very good."

She came to kneel in front of him and took one of his feet, and pushed it to bend at the knee. Holding the foot in her hands. "I want you to push against me, as hard as you can. You can't hurt me. But if you feel discomfort or pain, let me know and stop."

It was sad, but it was the truth. He couldn't have hurt her if he tried. Even if he was bigger and taller than her normally. He pushed against her hands, and she nodded before taking his other leg and holding it, bending it at the knee. "Again, push as hard as you can."

Her eyes were closed and he got the feeling she was measuring it mentally. Just as she had with his hands.

When he was done, she crawled to the side of the mat and made a quick notation. She had been indeed measuring by some scale in her head.

"Has the METs been explained to you?" She asked. "I don't want to assume such, because you'd be surprised how many people in this hospital do not know much of anything outside of their specialties. In fact, it's rather depressing how many don't." She said the last in a sardonic tone.

He kind of shrugged. "I know of them, if that is what you mean. I was primarily an Intensivist. So I know a fair bit about heart attacks and how to treat them. Working in ICU, you're faced with all sorts of things. And a trip to the ICU is not unheard of. So I know what the METs are. I'm a bit iffy on the entire listings. I know that sitting is something like a 1.0. And I know skiing is something like an 8.0. Which is extremely high-impact to the heart."

"Exactly." She nodded. "And this makes my work a bit easier. I'll give you a sheet. But for the first week? You're going to sit, work on stretching, and start working on your stamina, but in baby steps. You'll need your Stress test before I go any further than that. I have to work with not only your back, but your heart. Unfortunately, they have different needs, and I need to find a good medium between. I have the reports from Foreman, but after tomorrow I'll know what I'm dealing with when it comes to your heart. I'm going to show you some simple stretches you can do, and then... I'm going to give you some stuff to take home and work with. Squeezing a ball with your hands, and pulling on a large elastic band... Low impact but useful."

He nodded to that. Figuring that at least made sense.

She demonstrated a few of the stretches he could work with, in deference to his back. She rarely touched him, unless he seemed to need assistance, and only after he faltered. She frowned and watched him. "Are you having muscle spasms?" She asked.

"Yes, and no. I mean, it just kind of... twitches." He shrugged. "It's been doing that. I just figure its the nerves jumping or something. Or the muscles reacting?" It wasn't out of the realm of disbelief after all, it was actually rather typical. "But it doesn't really hurt. It's more irritating than anything."

"Is it just in your legs and feet, or does it happen elsewhere?" She asked, feeling his lower leg and then removing his shoe and feeling his foot. Most of the twitches seemed to be in that area.

"Hands." He admitted. "But most of them existed before the surgery."

"Might possibly be the blood pressure medication as well." She said carefully. "Do you have any other side effects or symptoms?"

He shook his head and then remembered. "Lightheaded, dizzy, and headaches. But I just figure it is also from the blood pressure medication."

"You might want to see about getting it switched out. I'm going to file a report of course, with both Turner and Foreman. With a recommendation to look closer at your meds and possible interactions. It's possible your body may adjust, but it is also possible it may do you mischief. I'd much rather have you change meds then continue to deal with side effects."

Still, he noticed that she was giving him a vaguely disconcerted look.

After a moment, she shook her head, and went with another line of questioning. "Are you getting along all right at home? Having any difficulties?" She asked, getting out her clipboard and pencil again and making notations.

"No more than expected. Trying to stand long enough to change clothes. I think I'm about ready for a nice long soak in the tub. But they're trying to be careful of the incision site. So that's out. So it is pretty much sponge baths for now." He sighed. "I really need to shave, but House doesn't seem to keep a razor around. Big surprise there, huh?"

She smiled. "I've never met him, really. What is he like? He seems to avoid our department."

He had a feeling his answer would go into the report, because it was a very natural and normal way to ask 'are you being abused?' without actually insulting anyone.

He gave a slow smile. Ah, things are back on track. He was going to start subtle. Nothing overt and direct. Nothing... said directly. But in about a week or two, it should spread. And then... Well, House would probably strangle him because people will think that he's nice and bug him. He'll have to go on double-bastard-duty time to reassert his reputation. "Here? He has quite a reputation, I admit. But it is honestly different when he's home alone. It's almost like he's two different people. The public face which is difficult, sarcastic, and hard to get along with. And the private one. Who..." He looked down and then back up under his eyelashes. "Plays beautiful music and is quiet... and thoughtful."

Sibyll raised her brows and then nodded. "Ah, well... that's... good." She smiled slightly. "I'm glad to hear that. It's very important to have a lot of support at home."

"He is." He said with the same shy slow smile.

Inside, he was laughing like a mad man. Because even if Sibyll didn't directly gossip and spread the word that House was a secret marshmallow at home, it was going into her report and Foreman would no doubt see it.

She nodded again and then asked if he could get back into his chair without assistance. He once more asked if he could try. He was shaky and tired by the time he got seated, but he also had an intense feeling of satisfaction. She gave him a nod of approval and then brought back the balls to squeeze and the band for him to stretch with his legs.

A quick call, and a male nurse had appeared to take him back to the Conference room.

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	46. Chapter 46

RJ had chatted about nothing as he pushed Chase along. At least, until they passed another nurse and then RJ had shut up until they passed by. The nurse in question hadn't even looked at them, but RJ had turned around to give her a second look. A very long look. With an exceedingly sappy look in his eyes. Chase rolled his eyes and grinned to himself as it occurred to him that RJ was one of those guys that didn't know how to talk to women. Instead, they were the wall flowers who stuttered and fumbled their way through any interaction with a woman they fancied. It amused him, as it wasn't as though the RJ fellow was a bad looking man. Maybe a bit on the dorky and nerdy side. But not bad looking.

During the chat about nothing, Chase mentioned House a few times. Talking in general terms for the most part. But then mentioning here and there harmless things. After all, the rumor war was supposed to be somewhat light-hearted and not anything that would harm anything. So he told RJ about... House liked teddy bears. He mused that, perhaps, that is why Wilson had so many teddy bear things in his office. RJ chuckled and admitted to liking cows. Told Chase that he had a lot of cow things in his kitchen. And then recommended a place where you could get themed house things of that sort... before they were to the office? RJ even offered to pick up a set of teddy bear plates for House, if Chase wanted. Chase smiled and agreed.

House was in the Conference room itself when Nurse RJ left him there. But none of his new minions seemed to be around. It was just him, and his ever present white board. In the Conference room, RJ had set the brakes, and then saluted House before taking off.

Chase seemed rather surprised to see him actually working! Not just sitting in his office, but actually standing there surveying the board and thinking. House on the other hand was giving the retreating male nurse a weird look. "Did he just salute me?"

"Yeah, weird huh?" Chase nodded. He looked back to see RJ standing against the wall. More like pressed against it with a panicked look on his face. A second later, he saw why, as a gaggle of nurses passed by, chatting and laughing together. Once they'd passed, RJ had the sappy look again. Chase realized after a second look in the direction they'd gone that RJ's little nurse was in the middle of the group. He chuckled to himself, shaking his head. How could that girl not notice? "He's a bit odd, but seems to be a good bloke. What are you working on?"

"Cuddy in her infinite wisdom has decided that I've not been earning my keep recently. Therefore she handed me a case with the order of 'work on this or so help me god... I'm on my last nerve don't push me!' Considering that she had the 'just talked to lawyers' look in her eyes, I decided it was best to take the case." He nodded sagely. "She might actually come up with something I'd hate worse than Clinic duty this time."

"And that would be a tragedy." Chase intoned with the weight of great wisdom in his voice.

"How was PT?" House asked, leaning back against the table, facing the white board, back to Chase for the moment. He was watching the white board, as though new symptoms would magically appear with an answer attached. Whatever it was, it was being elusive. House hated not knowing as much as he loved trying to find the answer in the process.

"Annnnd that would be you avoiding the question of what you are working on. It went fine. She was professional. She gave me some balls to squeeze and a big rubber band to stretch with my legs." He half shrugged. "It was useful. Things I can do that will actually have some effect! But she said it would be after the stress test tomorrow before she knows more. She doesn't want to get too far into things, and then set back the recovery. She wants me to look into having my blood pressure meds changed as well. She thinks the twitching may be from that. Not to mention the lightheaded and dizziness. But we knew that part. I don't think its causing the spasms though."

"In your hands and feet, you mean?" House asked, still not looking at him. He was tapping the marker against his leg. With the other hand, he grabbed his cane and lurched closer to the board. Hanging the cane on the edge, he put one hand on top, and switched the marker to his dominant hand. Dementia? He wrote.

"Yeah." Chase nodded, watching House tap the edge of the marker against the board with a frown. Dementia tended to be linked to neuro. Chase found himself automatically listing the possible causes in his head.

"It's not the blood pressure medication." House agreed with him. He shook his head. "Your hands were already twitching the day you fell in the bathroom. The thumb had been twitching. Like it was a video game addict and you were the mean daddy that had taken away its favorite game."

"Yeah, I know. I told her it was probably the nerve damage. But she didn't seem to believe me." Chase rolled his eyes. He was getting kind of used to that, but it still bothered him as well. "You know, I'm well aware I fell down on the job when it came to diagnosing myself. But I'm still a Doctor, and..."

"There is a reason it is frowned upon to treat yourself. Not just because we may write ourselves prescriptions and become addicts. But because, we tend to downplay or second guess ourselves. We either decide we're blowing it out of proportion, or that it isn't important. We literally sabotage ourselves. We know too much, for our own good, when it comes to how the body and disease work." House rubbed his leg a moment and then started pacing, back and forth. "Speaking of which? Twenty nine year old male, presenting with dementia, disorientation and the inability to stand."

"Sounds neurological." Chase frowned. "Or he's really really drunk or high. But considering he's made it this far, I'd have to say it's neuro. Toxin?"

"I have the newbies off and running to get tests done. It's neurological." He confirmed. "His tox screen came back clean. Whatever is going on in his head, he didn't do it to himself on purpose."

As he was speaking, someone quickly stuck their head into the room and called out. "Muscle twitching. Difficulty speaking. New symptoms." The man disappeared again leaving House to write the new symptoms on the board.

"Still sounds neurological to me." Chase commented. "Going to need some scans."

House nodded in agreement. "What can cause muscle twitchiness?" House asked Chase suddenly, turning to look over his shoulder at him.

Chase raised his brows and looked around, realizing he was the only one in the room at the moment for House to bounce ideas off of. House always thought better by speaking aloud. It used to be they thought he just liked the sound of his own voice, but over the years he's realized that it was just how his thought processes worked best. He needed someone there to talk to.

"Uh... anxiety, but not to this degree and obviously not the case. In that case only his eyelid, or his thumbs or calf would be twitching. This sounds to be overall in the body. Diet can lead to it when someone is deprived of certain nutrients for some reason. Calcium deficiency to name one. Drug overdoses, but the tox screen was clean. Drug side effects, but I assume that the newbies would have considered that as well, right?"

House smirked and rolled his eyes. "They're new for a reason..." He wrote it in the corner and put a question mark beside it. He also wrote diet on the board.

"Exercise, but again, not the cause here..." Chase saw House nodding. He rubbed his jaw, feeling the scratch of his beard and hating how it felt. It made him itch and was distracting.

"Nerve damage via the spinal cord." Chase rolled his eyes and held his arms out with a rueful smile. "Caused by compression of the disks... doubtful with his confusion and other problems."

"ALS, which can affect speech. But it doesn't explain the mental confusion and disorientation." Chase continued. "Spinal Muscular Atrophy or Muscular Dystrophy, neither of which explain the confusion part. Myopathy in general, but... it doesn't relate to the other symptoms."

House scratched his throat and looked from Chase to the board and asked. "What causes speech problems? Rapid onset. This whole thing has been very rapid. From onset till he was brought here, and he's getting worse. And we've only had him for an hour. He was dumped off in this condition."

"Dementia applied to certain neuro diseases, ahhh Huntingtons, brain injury, stroke, cancer, aphasia... TIA. There's a lot of things though..." He paused. "Has anyone determined if he has muscle weakness? Or if he's lost any muscle tissue?"

House clicked his tongue, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes before coming to a decision. "Come on." He said, limping over to Chase and getting behind the wheelchair to push it. He put the cane once more beside Chase and told him. "We're going to go examine a patient."

"Uh... you could leave me here, you know? I don't need a babysitter." Chase huffed in annoyance. He was getting a bit tired of people acting like he couldn't be left alone even for ten minutes without getting into trouble.

"Did you not hear me? I said... we are going to go examine a patient. We don't have time today for the children to run around like chickens while the patient dies. If the patient was going to die slowly, that would be one thing. But this one is being really annoying. So, you're going to help me. Just like in the old days."

He pushed Chase through the door after opening it and then turned, heading to the room the patient was stowed in.

A nurse was adjusting an IV. "Oh, Doctor House. I didn't expect to see you here." It was the same nurse from earlier. RJ.

The man had sandy blond hair, and wore glasses. They were round wire frames and gave him a rather geeky appearance. His face was rather kind, but despite being shaved he still had a hint of shading where the facial hair would grow if allowed.

"Hm... move." House ordered the nurse, not sure what the man's name was. It usually didn't matter to him. And if told, he'd quickly forget it anyway.

He wheeled Chase closer to one side, while he himself tried to talk to the patient and examine him. They didn't get much in the way of intelligent answers. When he did seem to be aware, he slurred his words and drooled.

At one point, the patient was hallucinating, afraid of both of them.

Eventually, they came to the conclusion that he did have muscle weakness, and there was evidence of wasting. "Well, that was fun! Let's not do it again." House said, pushing Chase out of the room.

"He's had this, at least for a while. What did the person that brought him have to say?" Chase asked.

"They didn't. When I say they dumped him here, I was literal. They dumped him outside the hospital and took off. Cuddy has the police on it, but I doubt they will find them. The only reason we know his name, age, and address is because he had a wallet on him. No pictures. No money. I know. I looked." House look disappointed. "Not even a credit card."

"Has anyone gone to the address yet?" Chase asked as House pushed him down the corridor. RJ zipped in and out of rooms, looking for something, and then came back with a file. Only to bump into someone as he was reading it.

"You're tying up traffic! We have the right away! Call a road crew and clean it up, but for now, scoot the wreck to the side of the road. So we can commute!" House pretended to honk in an irritated manner until RJ and the other person managed to gather up the records and move to the side.

"I sent someone, they aren't back yet." House looked annoyed. "EEG and LP and CT his head..." He paused, realizing that Chase wasn't actually working. "...is what I'm going to order next."

Chase looked up and caught the slip, but decided not to call him on it. Instead, he said. "What you really want to do, is a brain biopsy. I can see it in your eyes."

"My eyes say brain biopsy, but my lips say ... Cuddy won't let me. Yet. I have to wait till the other things are done first. According to Mother Superior, that is." He turned to the nurse, snapping his fingers at the man who was still in the hall and was trying to straighten out all the records in his arms. "You..."

"RJ Thompson." He supplied. "Most call me just, RJ."

"I don't really care. You... go find one of my minions and tell them I have tests for them to run." He waved his hand around before taking the wheelchair and pushing it once more, heading to the elevator.

"Do you have any idea yet what he has?" Chase asked as they entered the elevator.

"Not really. Not yet. It's in his brain." House pronounced in a dire voice. "I really really want a piece of his brain."

"You sometimes remind me of a zombie. The way you always want the braiiiiiiiiiins... get me a piece of their braaaaaaiiiiiiiiiins." Chase moaned the words, holding his arms out in front of himself and lurching from side to side slightly in his seat.

A young nurse stepped into the elevator and gave Chase a sympathetic look. Chase grumbled and his face darkened. He should have expected that kind of response, but expecting it and seeing it was two different things. He wanted to yell at her that he was going to be fine and to save her pity for someone else.

House glared at her for a moment before asking. "What? You've never seen two cripples going out and about before? I'd let him drive, but he never asks for directions!"

She didn't seem to know what to say to him, and as soon as the door opened she hurried out.

House pushed down on the handles and popped a wheelie tilting him backward so he could look down at Chase. "Want to put glue on her hairbrush? Bet I can find out where her locker is!" He asked.

"No, it isn't worth it." He admitted. "But it was a sweet thought."

The front wheels touched down and suddenly Chase found them charging out the doors. "Where exactly are we going?"

"You're right... I want a brain biopsy." House admitted, apparently unable to resist the temptation to at least try to get one. "I'm not going to be happy until I have a tiny piece of his brain to look at!"

They were heading straight to Cuddy's office.

House didn't wait to be cleared by the secretary and rushed them in while the man sputtered and tried to stop them. "Sorry, can't talk, Cuddy needs us!" House said in a rush as he pushed past the man. Chase almost felt sorry for the guy.

She was talking to Wilson and Chase clearly heard her saying. "...I just do not understand how someone with such a high patient success rate could be so much trouble! This is ridiculous!"

Wilson was shaking his head and looked at a loss. He held his hands up and shrugged. "I... don't know what to tell you. I've talked to him, and..."

"Now now, it isn't polite to talk behind my back!" House chided them, wagging a finger at them. "Am I being sued again? What for this time? It's not about that chick with the mole shaped like a fish is it? Because, I referred her to Wilson. If anyone should be..."

She put her hand up, shaking her head. Looking down, she sighed deeply. "It's not you this time. For once. It's another..." She pressed her lips together and shook her head. "Never mind. It doesn't concern you. You don't need to be involved."

"But it concerns Wilson?" House asked. "That's not faiiiiir. You two are excluding me from the club and the gossip. Why don't you just put a sign up that says no boys allowed? Isn't there laws about discriminating against the differently abled?"

Wilson started to ask why the word boys, and then apparently it clicked and then he glared at House and crossed his arms. "It is Board business. It doesn't concern you. And I'm not a girl, House."

"No, you're all woman, baby!" House gave him a fake-leer, winking at Wilson. "Come onnnnnnnnn, who is causing trouble?"

House paused and then the light came on in his eyes. "Oh hoooo, oh, oh please please please tell me it is Turner? Please? Please tell me you're going to fire his little ass? Please? I'll consider it an early birthday present!"

The way both of them straightened up and looked at House, it was immediately obvious they were indeed talking about Turner. House cackled and rubbed his hands together. "Yes, yes, yes! I knew it! I knew he couldn't stay out of trouble! I knew it! Let me guess, he pissed off a patient and they are suing him?"

"Not... quite. And we're not firing him. Just... it will be up for review for a possible sexual harassment hearing." She finally admitted looking disgruntled and tired. "House, have you been having problems with Dr. Turner? Have you already crossed swords with him? Dr. Chase? I noted he was your Cardiologist on your case, what are your thoughts on him?"

"Sexual harassment? Tommy?" House gaped. He honestly looked shocked and surprised. Maybe even a touch of disbelief. "How is that possible? The man is a cold fish! He's not dated in almost ten years! Not since his..." He trailed off, putting together something in his mind, making a fist with one hand and shaking it beside his head while he grimaced.

"Since his wife died." House added the last part almost to himself softly and then made another disgusted face and hit his fist in his hand. "Damn it. I should have realized that."

"Tommy? That's an awful familiar way of talking..." Wilson trailed off, a light coming on in his own eyes. "You know him, don't you?" He sighed. "House? What is going on? This isn't another former classmate from hell is it? You didn't lure him here to torment and ruin him for something that happened twenty years ago?"

House shrugged and shook his head. "I didn't even know he was here until today! If I had, you would have heard me bitching way before now! You know I'm not this patient!"

"Dr. Chase?" Dr. Cuddy asked in a softer tone. "Can you shed any light on his behavior? How does he act toward you? Do you have any complaints?"

"He, acts like an arsehole." Chase echoed House. "But mostly he was really... cold. And insulting. He was almost like a robot. I find it hard to imagine him sexually harassing anyone, myself. But I've only met him the one time, so far."

"I want to know how he was sexually harassing someone?" House asked, once more looking confused. "Even when he was married to Eve, he was very... proper. At least, when it comes to sexual things. He finds talking about sex to be distasteful and crude. What did he say?"

"Thaaat's the thing." Wilson said slowly. "That's why it is going before the Board. We think it is safe to say that the person filing it, just couldn't figure out how to word a complaint that basically amounts to 'he said something I didn't like, and hurt my feelings'. Because, I honestly don't think..." He paused to look at the paper on Cuddy's desk. " Put some real clothes on, you look like a trollop... really constitutes sexual harassment. Now if he'd said something like, you look like a nun, wear a low-cut top? That would be sexual harassment!"

"Now that sounds like Tommy!" House nodded. "If he had his way, I think all women would wear dresses to their ankles or baggy trousers. Formless shirts that show nothing." He made a face. "He would deny us the pleasure of the beauty of the female form. Male too. Tight jeans are a no no in his book too. He puts the rude in prude!"

"You really do seem to know a lot about, Dr. Turner. Why is that, House?" Cuddy asked, propping her chin up on her hand and giving him a questioning look.

"I suspect he has a tiny penis to go with the rest of his stature. Makes it hard to get a date, so why try?" House informed them. "And if he's not getting any, why should the rest of us?"

"No, I meant how do you know a lot about him?" She asked, sighing and rolling her eyes. "You know a lot of his personal details. Like his wife's name, when she died, and how he feels about people's dress choice?"

"House is being difficult, just to be difficult." Chase informed her finally. He also realized that House would drag it out for hours for his own amusement. "House and Turner are first cousins. Turner's mother was House's father's sister. He's known Dr. Turner since he was born. And it is safe to say, they do not get along. It's why I figured he was such an arse to me. I live with House. Therefore, I'm a target."

"You shouldn't be a target, because my doctors should be responsible... House, would you stop looking down my blouse?" She sighed, leaned back and rubbed her forehead before crossing her arms over her chest.

"You were saying?" House asked, raising his brows. "I got distracted."

Chase covered his mouth with a hand and looked away, smiling slightly. Leave it to House to prove a point by being obnoxious.

"Whatever problems you and Turner have? Both of you need to grow up and get over it." She told House slowly as though he were a student in class. "House, the hospital and patients are not here for the two of you to play out a family feud."

"What have I personally done, to indicate that is what I'm doing?" House asked her in the same patronizing tone. "I just found out today that he's even here! All I've done is cheer when I heard he got into trouble. But then I cheer whenever anyone else does get into trouble. That usually means I'm not in trouble. And if it doesn't, that means I'm at least not going down alone. You have to tell him this, not me. I've been a good boy." He paused. "Relatively."

"And, not to defend House's honor or anything. God forbid." Wilson bobbed his head a moment. "We are here to discuss Turner's comment to a woman who took offense. I don't think it is considered sexual harassment, because the tone of it was that he wanted her to put more clothes on, rather than take them off. We also now have an indiction that Turner is not someone likely to make such passes anyway. I say it is a nuisance charge." Wilson admitted, almost reluctantly. He gave House an almost apologetic look as though to say, 'Sorry, he's staying.'

"Well, Turner is a nuisance. A little problem you could say." House offered, playing off the man's lack of height.

"House? Zip it." Cuddy started and then paused, realizing that they were indeed there. Probably for a reason unconnected to Turner. "House? Why are you and Chase here?"

"Brain biopsy!" House told her, clapping his hands together and then rubbing them. "Let me!"

"On Chase?" She yelled incredulously, eyes wide as her mouth fell open. Even Wilson looked shocked.

Both House and Chase favored her with confused and incredulous looks of their own. Then House shook his head as though to shake off a daze. Both of them said the word together. "No!"

House rolled his eyes and shook his head. "No, on my patient. Mr. Spasm upstairs! I want a brain biopsy on him. Chase's brain is fine, as far as I know." He reached down and softly rapped on top of Chase's head. "See? No thunk. Not hollow!"

"Have you run all the other tests yet?" Cuddy leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs as she looked up at House. Wilson had gathered up the papers about Turner and was just watching the latest episode of House versus Cuddy. "You can't just go around taking bits and pieces of someone's brain! It is dangerous and can have severe repercussions."

"But he's hardly using it now!" House protested. "At least I would do something interesting with it! Like... diagnose him! And letting him die is far more dangerous, with far more severe repercussions. Like rotting in a coffin! That's pretty severe!"

"No, House." She told him, shaking her head and pressing her lips together. "Only as a last resort."

"Wellllll that last resort is coming pretty quick. He's rapidly declining." House told her. "I need that biopsy before he dies. I hate letting the Corner do the diagnosing. He gets too full of himself and gloats! Of course, it is cheating when you can look at the whole brain. But try telling him that!"

"Show me the other test results first." She told him, raising a hand to stop his tirade.

"Fine. Fine. Fine... but when I'm back in an hour, you'll realize I was right, as usual! And we could have skipped all this, and gotten down to business earlier. You'll seeeee." He pushed Chase in front of him as they made their way out. "And do yourself a favor. Fire Turner now. Because if you think I'm a pain in the ass? You've seen nothing yet!" 


	47. Chapter 47

It wasn't an hour later. It was actually three hours later before Cuddy finally consented to let him do the brain biopsy. It was hours after that, before the results came back. The results of which left House thrilled!

Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease.

For half an hour, House talked about how he could have solved this houuuurs ago, if only people listened to him. He kept calling people up to gloat, only to have them hang up. But he remained undaunted.

After the fifth time of calling Cuddy, she finally told him he could go home. Unfortunately for the patient? There was no cure. So he was going to have to go to, as House put it, long term storage.

It occurred to Chase then that he was once more faced with the prospect of riding with House to go home. House played with his keys for a moment and then declared. "Damn." He clicked his tongue and sighed, raising his brows. "I just remembered... I'm out of gas. Forgot to go to the station. We'd never make it back before I ran out. Or to the station. Looks like we need to bug Wilson for a ride again."

House shoved his keys back in his pocket and turned to go to Wilson's office. "Wait here, be right back." He lurched out and returned scant minutes later with Wilson in tow.

He was lecturing House on the way in without pausing. "You forgot to get gas? How-how does someone forget to get gas when their tank is nearly empty? What if you had run out on the way here? What would you have done then? It's still cold outside!"

"Yes, because no one in the history of driving has ever run out of gas on accident. It never happens. Except on dark lonely roads when a guy is driving a girl home and hoping to get lucky! But these days, she's just as likely to use pepper spray and then taser him before running off screaming into the night. Or, busting a cap in his ass. I decided to skip all that and just run out of gas so I can bug you! A bit short sighted of me really. Maybe if I had run out while Chase and I were on the way home, he'd give me a cuddle? Do you think he has pepper spray?"

"I'm just saying, you have to be more careful. It isn't just you now. Someone is depending on you. You have to think of these things!" Wilson sighed, getting ready to push Chase.

At least, until House used his cane to move Wilson to the side and took his place behind the chair. "Really? Because I'm sure I would have just enjoyed being stranded all by myself if Chase wasn't there. I was looking forward to it! The peace and quiet while people zipped by narrowly missing hitting me and the car and killing me in the process! Damn, all this because I could use the car pool lane with him in the car! I could have skipped bringing him and kept the excitement all for myself!"

He pushed the chair past Wilson and through the doors. He nodded toward his minions, leaving them to take care of the clean up. "I have important things to do. Like... watching movies. Have fun!"

Chase planned to hold House to the idea that he got to pick the movie tonight.

Chase had remained silent the entire time, because he didn't know what to think of the situation.

Wilson, had helped House get the car out of storage. House had been gone for quite a while between that time, and them actually leaving. When he'd returned, he had nothing with him... Now, thinking back, Chase could remember the smell of gasoline as he'd come into the apartment to get Chase.

House was lying. The tank could not be almost empty. They hadn't used that much gas!

House lying wasn't unusual in and of itself. But he was lying specifically so as not to have to drive home, making Wilson drive specifically. Just as... Chase had wanted that morning.

Huh...

Wilson kind of threw his hands up, sighed and followed behind him. "It's just that... you have to be more responsible..."

"Dr. Wilson?" Chase spoke up before House could say anything. "Please, just... don't. I have a headache and, I hate to be rude. But you're not just lecturing House, but me as well. Please, just... it was surely an accident. As he pointed out, he wouldn't enjoy being stuck on the side of the road, even if I wasn't there. And he surely wouldn't enjoy it with me there, because then he'd have to listen to ME lecture and bitch at him. It was an honest accident. Even he has them sometimes."

Wilson sighed heavily and then finally nodded. "I apologize. I'm sorry."

"It's no big deal." Chase said quietly, and House had fallen silent as well they made their way down to the parking lot. Wilson running ahead to get the car for them.

Chase quietly worked slowly on the puzzle of why House would lie to get Wilson to drive them. But there was also a new puzzle to add to the first. The puzzle of why he spoke up to stop Wilson's lecture to House.

He could easily have let it go to its natural conclusion. They would bicker and snark at one another, ending in a stalemate between them. Nothing serious would have occurred. They wouldn't have even ended up fighting.

It just didn't seem fair though, somehow. House was sparing him, in a way. In his way, he was probably trying to be thoughtful and nice, without directly doing so. It was an excuse, and he did not have to admit to anything.

Chase pondered that as the car started and they were on their way. No one could say that House was actively nice, but he also wasn't usually unnecessarily cruel. Well, again, unless he was in detox. But he'd seen people who'd acted worse during those times. He just didn't want to think or remember those times. In a way, he'd been just as enabling to his mother as Wilson tended to be with House.

Wilson was quiet most of the way there, though Chase could tell he wanted to say something. But every time he opened his mouth, he'd end up closing it again. Probably in deference to Chase's headache.

There were moments when Chase felt bad about what he'd said to Wilson during the drive. But on the other hand, well, it was best to not always reveal House's motivations. If a nicety was revealed, he would just deny it, and then act twice the bastard later to make up for it!

House didn't speak on the way back either. Of course, that was probably more to do with the fact that the man had fallen asleep about ten minutes into the ride. Chase watched him from the backseat. His face smoothed out and relaxed. His breathing had evened out, his head laying back against the headrest. The seat had been reclined slightly, allowing him to go to lay back without leaning against the window or falling forward. His legs were both stretched out, the ankles crossed. The seat was slid back to allow room for them and he once more had his cane in his arms, laying in the crook of one elbow.

Chase couldn't see the scar on one side of his neck, but he knew it was there. If he concentrated, he could almost see his pulse...

Which is why he was startled when Wilson touched his shoulder. "Chase? Are you all right?"

He blinked rapidly, confused. "What? Whe...?"

"We're here. You seemed to be miles away. Are you all right?" He was looking at Chase's eyes, as though he were a patient. "How much time do you think you lost?" He asked, his hands now on Chase's face. He was frowning, concerned.

Nearly the entire ride?

Chase shook his head, giving him his best embarrassed smile. The 'aw shucks' smile that a lot of people ate up when he was trying to be charming and get out of trouble. "I was just... zoned out. No big deal. I was just thinking, daydreaming, it's all right. I'm all right. Just lost in my thoughts!"

House was waking up now that the car was no longer vibrating and swaying him to sleep. That and the voices were also waking him. He cleared his throat, voice groggy and choked with sleep. "What's going on? Did Chase moon a cop? Chase what have I told you about pissing off the police?" House opened the door and came around the other side to where Wilson was, standing beside the wheelchair. "What's up?"

"It took me a couple of minutes to get his attention. He was staring off into the distance." Wilson had taken out his light and was shining it into Chase's eyes who was trying to wave it away. "Photophobia?"

"No, I just don't like lights shined in my eyes! I'm fine! I was just... zoned out. People do it all the time." Chase gestured for them to move so he could get into the wheelchair. He slid into it with a scowl. "Stop making a big deal out of nothing!"

"Are you sure?" House narrowed his eyes. "Remember what I said about sabotage and discounting symptoms because it involves ourselves? We can't be objective about ourselves! It's nearly impossible. And if I can't do it, you sure as hell can't. So how can you be so sure?"

"I'm sure!" Chase said. "I was just... looking... out the window. I think after all this time, someone else would have noticed it and commented on it. I was just looking out the window,watching the scenery pass. It is possible I allowed myself to be simply... hypnotized. That's possible too!" Not strictly true, but he figured that House would take it entirely the wrong way, or read too much into it if he said he'd been staring at House's neck. "And my mind drifted. It's no big deal. Honest." He wheeled himself to the curb, letting Wilson get him over the hump as House got their make-shift ramp. Up the ramp and into the building, he felt more secure.

He had the distinct impression that they didn't believe him, but at the moment they couldn't really prove if he was lying. Really? He didn't think it was that big a deal. He'd fallen asleep, that was all. It had happened before! Over-tired at work, he'd be sitting on a couch and before he knew it, someone was calling to him. Sometimes it was a few seconds. Sometimes it was a few minutes. Sometimes, he'd come back to himself, lay down and find himself waking up much later, unaware of when he'd originally fallen asleep. So there was no real reason to worry. He was just tired. He took pain pills and other pills, and it made him tired.

Pushed into the apartment, he noticed that House and Wilson had not entered with him. Instead, House reached in, shut the door and stood with Wilson in the hall.

Chase growled. Oh this was too much! They were out there, talking about him, and shoved him in here so he wouldn't hear or be part of the conversation. It was worse than when he was a child and his father would send him to his room.

He wheeled himself back to the door and pulled on the handle, twisting it. The door opened a couple of inches and then it slammed shut as House closed it again. The few seconds it was open he could hear the harsh whispering argument on the other side. Argument. Not plotting, so much as arguing about a plot.

Still, if it concerned Chase, he had a right to be part of it. He grabbed the handle in both hands and jerked it open, nearly pulling House into the apartment as he was still holding the handle on the other side. House got his balance and jerked it back closed yelling. "Hold on!"

Wilson yelled at House that, 'Ignore it, and you'll be just as bad as...' The voice was cut off again as the door clicked.

Chase gaped, and opened his mouth to yell as he put the brakes on and then grabbed the handle, pulling it open with all his strength fueled by anger. "What are you discussing? Me?" He demanded.

Wilson glared at House and House glared at Wilson. This was different. This wasn't bickering about House filling the gas tank. This could turn into a real fight. He pressed his lips together looking at each of them. "I'm fine. If you have a problem with me, you tell me and take it up with me. You don't argue in the hallway. You're not my parents, and I'm an adult."

Turning away from House, Wilson looked directly at Chase. "I think you had an absent seizure. You were not daydreaming. You were not asleep. You were not lost in your thoughts. You weren't 'there'. I think we should take you back to the hospital and run a few tests."

Chase pressed his lips together and looked up at House, crossing his arms over his chest. He felt a little betrayed, because till now, House had been trusting him. Well, maybe not trusting him, exactly. But not acting like he was an idiot. It was only recently that he'd started to worry about Chase's objectiveness to his own situation. He suspected that House was dealing more with his own lack of objectivity about his own health, and was projecting. "And you?"

"I think it would have been better, to let us sit down, have something delivered to eat. Watch a movie, and then tomorrow have the test added before taking the stress test!" House said in an almost reasonable tone. "But now, now you're going to argue and be a pain in the ass. And I'm not going to get to eat, or if I do get to eat, I'm going to have indigestion because you're going to sit on the couch and shoot sulk-rays at me all night. And then I'm going to have to kill you, go to jail, and become someone named Bruno's girlfriend because I'm so gosh-darn-pretty! So you see what you did, Wilson? You're setting off a chain of events that leads to you visiting me in jail and giving me money for cigarettes for a boyfriend! Aren't you ashamed?"

Wilson was just gaping at him, trying to figure out how they had gone from wanting an EEG to House being a prison-bride to a guy named Bruno. "House, your mind works in scary and completely freaky ways."

"Because it wasn't an absent seizure. It was me basically falling asleep with my eyes open. I've done that for years now!" Chase told them in a condescending tone of voice. Trying to get the conversation on track before it derailed further like a runaway train off a bridge into nowhere. "But, but, I'm trying to behave and be a 'good boy' and so, I would take the test tomorrow. Without a fight. If you would just ask me, and be reasonable."

He ground his teeth together and glared at them. "There is absolutely no reason for you two to treat me like a child or a mental incompetent. I'm neither!"

Wilson looked contrite and slightly ashamed. "I'm sorry. I... I didn't mean offense. I just worry about you too. Tomorrow? You'll do the EEG? Please? I'm just... I care."

Chase nodded, accepting that as being probably true. Wilson did tend to learn to forgive people, and was a very caring man. He'd almost have to be to put up with House.

House held his hands out and said. "See, now was that so hard? My television is calling me, and you're in the way. Wilson, go home. Chase, go park yourself." Wilson took his leave with one last apology and put upon look.

"I get to pick the movie. You promised." Chase told him, wheeling himself back to the living room, searching for the remote.

"I lied." House pronounced as he grabbed the remote first and getting into his beloved recliner.

"You are such an arse!" Chase protested, glaring. He was still mad from earlier.

"Pull the stick out of your ass. I didn't kick a nun! I didn't steal candy from a baby. I didn't drown a kitten. We argued out there because you're not supposed to have stress. Since I was telling Wilson to leave off for tonight, and he was wanting to haul you back to the hospital right now? I figured we'd be yelling at each other at some point. So we were trying not to... do the stress thing." He sneered and glared at the television sullenly as he turned it on to what he wanted to watch.

"Next time, ask. Next time, ask yourself what would you want to be done with you." Chase pointed out.

"What I would want in these situations, when applied to myself, will probably someday end up with me dead on the floor because I ignored my symptoms for far too long." He curled his lip and made a noise of disgust. "Always a day late and a dollar short when it comes to my own health."

"And you're just as bad." House next pronounced, turning to look directly at Chase. "Don't deny it!"

"I'm not. But I just honestly don't think anything is wrong. This has been going on for a long time. I just... doze off. Or I zone out. Lots of people do it." Chase moved to the couch, sliding on to it much easier than he had in the past. "Kids in class do it all the time. Can't say that the entire grade two class at the local school are all experiencing absent seizures. They're just inflicted with a boring teacher on a day they'd rather being playing!"

"Lots of people are idiots who don't realize when their minds have taken a vacation." House countered. "It's the same logic of 'I know I don't snore, because I'd hear myself.' Doesn't work that way."

"Do you really think I had an absent seizure?" Chase finally asked, hands in his lap and taking a deep breath before letting it out slowly. "Honestly?"

"I don't know. I really was asleep at the time, instead of so-called daydreaming. So I missed the show this time. Tomorrow, we'll try to find out. Now shush, Walker is about to kick some ass. He's going into a bar. That always means there's going to be ass-kicking."

Chase shifted till he could lay prone on the couch. The show was boring in his opinion. House on the other hand seemed to be enjoying it. He mocked it at times, but if Chase tried to say something he'd shush him.

He closed his eyes and figured a little nap wouldn't hurt. He'd skipped lunch, without realizing it, and another 'heart-smart' pizza was on the way. House had ordered it without bitching this time.

The shrill ring of a phone pulled him out of his nap what felt like a few minutes later. In reality he'd slept about an hour according to the clock. A piece of pizza waited for him on a plate and House was talking to someone.

He carefully sat up, and grabbed the slightly warm pizza and ate while trying not to appear to be listening in on House's call.

"What? No. Mom! I didn't... he's lying! No. You can't." House was getting more and more agitated as he stood up and grabbed his cane so he could pace behind the couch. "Mom, don't do it. Really! I don't... you didn't. He didn't! I'm going to kill that little runt! Mom, mom, mom, you have to e-mail everyone back! Tell them not... Mom please listen to me. He was lying, don't..."

He took the phone away from his ear and made a small strangled scream before biting the phone like a dog with a bone. He put the phone back to his ear and sighed. "I love you too, mom. Bye."

House threw the phone across the room and limped back to his chair, dropping into it in a foul mood.

"Ahhhh, I take it... Turner did something?" Chase ventured a guess from what he heard from his side.

House didn't answer and instead glared hot death at the television.

"Ohhhhkay... you'll tell me when and if you want. I'm just going to... eat my pizza." He said, sensing that House would tear his head off if he pushed.

He didn't have long to wait before House finally blew up. "The little bastard e-mailed most of the family! Particularly, the reunion committee! He told them, that he's been working at the same hospital as me and that I was sad and depressed because I haven't been able to attend any of the family functions for the last six years due to the pain in my leg. And that I would have attended, but travel is just oh-so-hard! So he suggested, that this year... we have it HERE! For ME!"

Chase gaped at him. "He..." Then he gasped eyes widening. "Do you mean, this town is going to be overrun with your family?"

House met his eyes with a grave look. "This may be the end of civilization as we know it." He pronounced.

"The end times are upon us." Chase pronounced, turning to face the television with a distressed look.

"Amen." House pronounced, leaning back and throwing an arm over his eyes.

---------------------------------------------------------------------- 


	48. Chapter 48

Chase wasn't sure what it was that had awoken him in the middle of the night.

They'd turned in early after House had set Chase on the toilet with a bowl of water, a washcloth and then later a razor and shaving cream. He'd felt far more human once he'd managed to scrap the whiskers off his face. It felt clean and lighter. Sensitive. He could feel the air on his face, and he enjoyed the feeling immensely.

But that had nothing to do with why he woke up. What was it? He had an anxious feeling, and swallowed hard. He felt like he should be scared, but wasn't sure why.

Then it hit him again. A sharp pain in his chest, and he realized that it felt like his heart was galloping. Not because he was scared, but because it was out of control! He put his hand up to count his pulse and found that he couldn't keep track. Oh, god. No. No, no, no! This could not be happening! Not now!

He swallowed and called out. "House!" His voice was a small rasping sound. Strangled. Part of it was fear and panic setting in for real this time. "House!" He made his voice louder and tried to breathe. He was having trouble catching his breath and he was sweating.

"House, help!" He called out, and was rewarded with House turning toward him.

"Chase? What?" He leaned onto his elbow, blinking tiredly.

"Heart!" He pressed his hand against his chest, it was the only word he could get out with the amount of air he was able to take in. He felt very dizzy. The room kept trying to tilt in ways it shouldn't be capable of doing.

House's eyes widened and he was quickly out of the bed and limping without his cane across the short distance to Chase's bed. Later, Chase would think about the fact that he'd never seen House move so fast with or without his cane. But at the time, he was just trying to catch his next breath.

House took his pulse, but only for a few seconds, before he pressed his hand against Chase's chest. It was as though he had to feel it for himself to make it more real. "Shit, shit, shit... Try to stay calm. Just try to stay calm."

He grabbed his leg and limped painfully to the dresser. He had the cell phone in his hand already dialing 9-1-1 before he was out the bedroom door. He returned seconds later, still on the line and saying he'd just unlocked the front door so that they could come straight in to get Chase.

Another chest pain raced through him, and Chase felt tears rising in his eyes as he tried to ride it out and breathe through the pain. It hurt so much. As though someone was squeezing him with a vise.

No matter how he tried to control his breathing, he was still breathless and faint. His heart was still out of control as it galloped like a runaway race horse. He felt like he was sliding side ways, but he couldn't stop himself. Suddenly, he found himself leaning into House. House's arm was holding him upright to keep him from falling, holding his shoulder tight in a one armed hug. Chase's head fell to House's shoulder as he felt it grow too heavy to lift.

He could barely hear what was being said. Something about thirty three year old male, recent heart attack during spinal surgery. Experiencing Tachycardia, shortness of breath, and chest pain.

As another pain spiked through him, he found one of his fists wrapped in House's black T-shirt over the other man's stomach. Holding on for dear life, almost literally. He grasped it and made a high keening sound as he felt like he was being torn down the side and in two.

"House." He gasped, eyes closed. Only the feel of House's hard shoulder and the cloth tightly clenched in his fingers seemed to be real. That, and the pain.

"It's going to be all right." House told him. "Just stay here with me. They'll be here soon. We're close to the hospital, they can have us there in minutes. Just stay here with me. When did you start to feel the chest pains?"

"Woke..." Chase said. He gripped House's shirt tightly again, pulling on it as another pain washed like a wave over him.

"Don't rip my shirt now. This is my favorite. You woke with them?" House asked, putting his hand over Chase's. He didn't make Chase let go, but wrapped his long fingers around the fist tightly.

Chase nodded, leaning as far as the brace would let him in the forward position. House's arm was still around his shoulders, keeping him from falling off the bed or to the side. He wanted so much to curl into a ball. Wrap around the hurt until it went away. "Keep breathing. In and out." He told the younger man. "I know it hurts, but you have to breathe... I think I hear them coming down the street. It's going to be all right."

Chase couldn't hear anything but the sound of House's voice and the thump of his own rapid heart. He felt faint and the world was graying out around the edges. The last thing he noted before the darkness swallowed him was House's voice calling him loudly, and yelling at him to hold on.

He next came to as they were placing him in the ambulance. House had climbed in beside him, and across from the paramedic. Coming into consciousness, it felt surreal. His heart was still beating out of his chest, but he had an oxygen mask on his face. Everything seemed to be composed of brightly colored dots and made of pixels. Everything was too loud, too real, too chaotic. He felt the panic and anxiousness and started to struggle against the binding that held him to the gurney before House leaned down and put his hands on his shoulders. "We're on the way to the hospital. Calm down. They're already waiting for us. If you see any bright white lights and hear your family calling? Tell them to fuck off and stay away from it! You're not getting off that easy. You owe me a new shirt remember? You've stretched this one!"

House kept one hand on his shoulder while he barked orders to the paramedic who kept looking at him as though he wanted to argue, but then seemed to agree and do what he was ordered. But there was a sense of resentment from the medic, regardless.

The ambulance was barely at a standstill when they were already pulling the doors open and pulling him out, wheeling him into the ER where doctors and nurses were already waiting. The edges were graying once more and then he was falling, falling, falling... there was no white lights. Only blackness.

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	49. Chapter 49

The steady beat of the heart monitor was the first thing he became aware of. It wasn't a matter of waking up as one does in the morning. It was a gradual awareness that settled upon him as he finally started to realize what was going on. The feel of the ox monitor on his finger. The weight of the bits of wire, laying on his skin under the thin gown. The feel of the oxygen mask once more clamped to his nose and mouth. It was sad to him, that he was becoming used to the feel of that. The constant hiss of air over his face wasn't nearly as bad this time, though his face felt stiff and his nose dry.

Next, he realized that there was harsh whispering going on over the top of him. A fight done in nothing but whispers and rasped tones. It was rather amusing from his fuzzy point of view, at first. And then he realized they were whisper-fighting about him, and it became less amusing by the second.

He kept his eyes closed, but tried to focus on what was being said. Trying to focus in on the voices and their owners. Putting it together and trying to figure out what happened, and how he got here again.

"You're not objective. There is a reason that family and loved ones should not treat people they know. You're a detriment to his health because you can't separate..."

"He's not what you think he is..."

A girl's whisper next. "This is not the time and place to be discussing this!"

Both men in unison. "Shut up!"

"I think he's my patient, that's what I think he is. And I think you care about him, even if you refuse to acknowledge it. Because you're standing here arguing with me. If you didn't give a fuck, you'd be home in bed right now and he'd not be staying with you at all! And I think that if he was some guy off the street, you would have had him in a hospital room this afternoon instead of waiting for him to experience an arrhythmia."

"We couldn't have predicted that he would go tachy in the middle of the night. Not even you could have, otherwise you would have kept him this afternoon as well! You're the cardiologist. Ironic isn't it? The heart doctor with no heart?"

Foreman.

"None of us could have predicted this would happen tonight."

That was House. Admitting he couldn't predict something? Was the world ending?

"If you three can't behave, I'm going to have to remove you." That was... that was Cameron?

"Oh, please, as if!  
"Like to see you try it!" "Bet me!" All three had whisper-yelled in an overlap.

"No, but if you had acted on the information of the absent seizure when it came up, chances are we..."

Turner. That was definitely Turner, and he was in a snit. He half wondered if the man was standing on a step-ladder to examine him.

"Not a chance. We would have only been looking at his EEG not an ECG! It wouldn't have helped. He did not wake up with chest pain until the middle of the night!" Foreman pointed out.

House argued as well. "It would not have made a difference at all! When we went to bed, as far as we knew, everything was fine!"

"You're going to wake him up!" Cameron sounded pleading. "Can't you all argue elsewhere?"

"I'm not leaving!" House ground out in a growl. Chase felt pressure on his wrist. As though someone was taking his pulse, only instead it was wrapped around his entire wrist. Holding it? Maybe?

"I'm his cardiologist. You really think you're going to throw me out?" Turner challenged her. "Considering it is his heart that brought him here? Think again! Though you are free to throw gimpy and his servant out!"

"Fuck you"  
"Fuck you." Foreman and House only this time.

"I'm not leaving. Throw the midget out! He'd be easier to pick up anyway! Just grab him by the scruff of the neck." House told someone.

"He's stable right now. Technically, you're not needed at this particular moment." Foreman told Turner.

"You both should not be on this case. I'll have you removed from it." Turner threatened. "Unless you can prove that you'll be objective enough to actually work on it. Now, I suggest you actually start working on it, before I'm forced to do something you'll regret."

"What are you going to do, kick me in the ankles? I'll use your head for a baseball!" House snarled. "And having the EEG would have not helped at all. Not for this! I don't see why you keep insisting it would have."

"Bullshit, because you know as well as I do, that once you get someone in for tests, you try to run as many as you can get away with. Everyone in this hospital knows how you operate. You push and push and push until something gives. Except this time! I'm still saying, that if he was anyone else? You would consider him some kind of... diagnostic mystery and you would be trying to figure out what caused all this to begin with!" Turner retorted. "As it is, you're reacting instead of acting. I'm not trained like you are. I'm a Cardiologist. I don't have the experience you do. And I'm man enough to admit that! But unless you can be more objective? You're not going to be any help to him."

"I'm getting Cuddy." Cameron finally stated, sounding almost desperate. Presumably, she also left.

"What is there to diagnose?" House asked in a harsh tone. "We know what caused the Arrhythmia. He has a heart condition. He had a heart attack. He had the heart attack because of the stresses of the surgery, having undiagnosed high blood pressure, and having dealt with pain for months and years. It was a strain. He had the spinal surgery because of a fracture and compress fractures. It isn't like he has gnomes in his body hacking away with little pick-axes. Though, I always suspected that gnomes left you on Aunt Mary's doorstep... explains a lot, really..."

"He's thirty three years old, and has the spine of someone twice his age. Doesn't that strike you the least bit odd?" Turner asked him. "Shouldn't you be trying to find the root cause?"

"He's done a lot of damage to it over the years by his own admission. There is nothing in those scans that couldn't be explained by natural det..."

"I had him scheduled for some scans of his bone to check the density. It just hasn't been a good time..."

"You're both accepting the easy answers." Turner countered harshly. "You need to look deeper. Or nothing I can do will save him in the end. Even if I gave him a new heart, whatever is causing this, would just destroy the new one! You don't put out a house fire by dumping a glass of water on it and then watching television!"

"Just because Eve..." House started.

"Who is Eve? Foreman asked in confusion.

"Eve was his..."

"Don't you dare." Turner interrupted House. "Don't you dare bring her into this. I'm not making this about Eve. This is about my patient, and nothing else. She... has nothing. Absolutely nothing. To do with this!"

"Sometimes." House said carefully. "A cigar is just a cigar. Is all I'm saying." He said it slowly and serious, as though from between clenched teeth.

"And sometimes, a cigar is actually a blunt for something else so they can slip something by the cops." Turner countered. "I know you hate me. I hate you. It's mutual. But, he is my patient. And while I may be a cold son of a bitch, as you are so fucking fond of reminding me? I do my job well. I take pride in that. It's the one thing I do care about. And the fact that I do, means that people live. Usually. But Sibyll's report raised alarm bells in my head."

"The twitches? He's had those for a long time. Nerve damage. It was plain to see on the..." House scoffed.

"What if they aren't caused by that? What if, they have another cause?" Turner insisted. "What if they are a symptom of something else, and not a result of damage already done? You want this to be about Eve? Fine! I'll make it about Eve!" He was finally raising his voice. No longer trying to whisper. He was spitting angry.

"Don't do what I did. Don't accept the easy answer because the doctors around you should know better and are your 'trusted' peers. Don't let him end up dying, because all you can do, is concentrate on the emotional support aspect. I lost Eve because I didn't look beyond that she's sick and hurting and needed me. I 'trusted' my co-workers. I 'trusted' their expertise! I lost her to a goddamned fucking MISTAKE! And it was just as much mine as everyone else's. Because I didn't question. I didn't protest. I didn't fight for her. And now she's gone. And I'm standing here, seeing you do the same stupid thing I did. And YOU, you should know better. You know how other doctors miss things!"

"So now you're going to bring my leg into it." House stated. "Nice."

Turner ignored House and continued. "Save him. Because I can't. I don't know how. I challenge you. I challenge you, to find the answer. You care for him! Don't you DARE lie to me. You wouldn't be here if you didn't. You won't hold his hand. But you're holding his wrist because it is as close as you dare. You can play it off as taking his pulse, despite the pulse ox monitor already attached. I challenge you, to stand up for him. Or are you too much of an emotional and mental cripple as well as a physical cripple?"

"Hey, Dr. Pot. Dr. Kettle is calling." House sneered the words. "I don't care the way you imply."

"Bullshit." Turner snorted. "Bull-fucking-shit. You're lying. To yourself. I saw you just after he was brought in. We all did. When we nearly lost him, you nearly lost 'it'. I don't truly care one way or another. But for god's sake, stand up and fight for him. Or you're going to lose him, and then you're going to be me. And trust me, you do not want to be me."

"True. For one thing, I wouldn't be able to reach the top cabinets." House agreed. "And I'd have to smell everyone's ass."

"I'm surprised you don't smell ass all the time, considering you're such a big one!" Turner countered.

"Doctor Turner? May I speak with you, in my office? Now!" He heard Cuddy's voice from somewhere in the distance. He could hear the anger and tension in her voice. It wasn't a request, it was an order. Obviously, she heard at least part of Turner lecturing House. Someone was going to be in trouble.

"He's... something else. The man has issues." Foreman said of the now departed Turner. "But he's right about some of it at least. Only, I think this is more about your pride and ego. Both are now at stake, because then that means you've been missing something for probably years! Your wonderful ability to deduce and analyze everyone around you, missed something! That means you're not perfect. Not infallible. And that more importantly, you've been wrong! You want the easy answer, not because you care too much. It's because you'll have to admit you didn't see it first."

House was silent for a long time, and eventually Chase cracked his eyes open to realize that everyone including Foreman had gone and only House was still standing there staring at him. His hand still on Chase's wrist. He was staring at it, as though he were in a trance. Still wearing what he'd been wearing when they'd gone to bed that night.

Chase wanted to lift his head, or reach out to him. But everything felt so tired and run down. He could barely move. He felt like he'd run a marathon. Not only did he have the spine of someone at least twice his age, he felt like someone twice his age. Maybe even someone three times his age. His other wrist ached slightly, for some reason. And his chest hurt, especially on one side.

The older man was slowly rubbing his forehead, as he closed his eyes. The same haggard tired look he'd worn the other day. It didn't look like he'd had any real rest in weeks. Maybe, he hadn't. How often had Chase recently woken to see House already awake and sitting either playing a hand-held game, reading, or watching television? Probably as often if not more so than Chase had in the months before this all came to a head. Pain made it difficult to sleep. And House had been in a lot of pain lately, due to him. It was taking a toll.

"Hey." Chase called out softly. "What time is it?" It was disconcerting not to know what time it was at any given moment. It seemed like since he'd gotten into this fiasco his life had been a series of snapshots. He honestly missed the days of endless and almost mindless lab work. Working on crossword puzzles, and puzzling out lives and what led the patients to them. It was much better than being a patient. Never knowing what would happen next. He had finally lost control of his life, and was in free fall. His only true life-line was the man standing beside him, and he looked like he was about to fall over.

"It's about six in the morning." House pulled a chair closer and sat down in it, removing his hand. He reached over and hooked his cane to the railing of the bed. "We're still down in the ER area. They've got you hooked up to all sorts of neat equipment to keep track of your heart and brain. I'm trying to figure out how to smuggle some of it out. Imagine the fun I could have with all this? I could get away with playing Dr. Frankenstein and really freak the neighbors out one night!" He was half-heartedly joking. Chase could tell. House sounded tired.

"You should go get some sleep." Chase finally gave in and said it aloud. He finally managed to get one of his arms to move toward House, and wiggled his fingers at him. "You should sleep. I'll be fine here."

"I couldn't if I wanted to. Insomnia. I spend half the night awake, laying in bed. Of course, when I finally do go to sleep..." House shook his head. "And, you were awake just now. Have been for a while. Turner knew it too."

Busted.

Of course, his heart rate would have increased upon truly awakening. And yet they had both continued their little whisper-fest. Trying to make a point? To whom? Each other? Him? Or in deference to his condition and the other patients in the ER?

"Yes. I was. It's not your fault, you know? Don't let him convince you that it was." Chase shook his head a little, and then looked up at the ceiling. "He's just laying blame. He's... It's the Eve thing."

"But he is right. I'm not objective. I'm... not. I don't know when I lost it." House sounded so disgruntled about it. As though he were disappointed in himself. Caring was a disease in and of itself. Wrong somehow. "I'm reacting instead of acting. I'm on the defense, instead of the offense. Since when do I accept the answers given to me? Since when, do I... not question deeper? I can't seem to... unhook." He had his hands shaped as claws, and moved them as though they were caught on something invisible. "We're ignoring the causes OF the symptoms, and treating them as a disease in and of themselves. We're trying to stave off a raging house fire with a glass of water. He's right. I'm... too close."

"He's not objective either." Chase pointed out, his voice still soft and quiet. He didn't have the energy to be louder. "Eve was his wife. He loved her. No. Loves, present tense, her. He says this isn't about her, but it is. When he was speaking, it wasn't cold and flat. It was with almost anger." He asked. "He's trying to correct the past with surrogates. Only, it'll never work."

House nodded. "He will always love Eve. I always thought he was a bit... obsessive. She died about ten years ago. High school sweetheart deal. They dated throughout high school. Got married as soon as they were legal enough to do so. I thought they were stupid, because honestly? Who gets married that young and has it work out these days?" He scoffed, shaking his head again. "And yet... they were still married until she died, when he was about twenty-nine." He shook his head at the end. "I don't know what she saw in him, or why. But I do have to admit, he was almost bearable when she was alive. Almost."

"How did she die? She died of a medical mistake? Misdiagnosis?" Chase asked, smoothing one of his hands over the bedspread on top of him. He couldn't really feel his fingertips. Just a vague pressure, but it would come back eventually. It always did.

"She got sick. The doctor thought it was one thing, then another, then something else. Nothing they did made her better." House had a tone of disgust in his voice. "That was about a year before this department was formed. A year before my Infarction. I and Stacy had seen them at the family gathering a couple of years beforehand, so when she died, we went to the funeral. Found out at the funeral that Tommy had an autopsy done, wanting to know what the hell she'd died of. Talk about cold. He could have been a statue for all that he moved, spoke, or responded. It was Aunt Mary that told us the findings."

House shook his head, still in disgust, but it was tinged by something kin to sadness. "One of the final diagnoses before she died, was that she had a very bad variant of the flu. Know what she actually died of? Meningitis." He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, passing a hand over his eyes. "She got it, from all things... an ear infection. She got the ear infection from a cold. So, it went from common cold, to middle ear infection, to Meningitis. And because she was misdiagnosed, not once, but multiple times? She died. A led to B led to C and then to D for death. A year later, after my leg, and due to guilt on Cuddy's part? They created this department for me. I think it was originally Wilson's idea, though he'll never admit it. Tommy only had one thing to say to me after that. 'Why couldn't you have been there a year earlier?' I don't think he was blaming me. I think he was just... depressed. Kind of like, someone dying and a week later there's a cure. I don't think he blames me. I think, he believes I could have saved her. And because he didn't call me, he blames himself for not giving up his pride and doing so."

Chase closed his eyes as well, trying to imagine how that must have felt. Surprisingly, he recalled what it felt like when he thought House had cancer. He'd cried, on the man's shoulder silently. Hugging him. Feeling hopeless and helpless. Wanting nothing more than to fix it, somehow. But he believed at the time it was terminal. He remembered thinking that it was just so damn unfair! And then, then they thought it was going to be all right, that they'd found a so called 'cure'. And he remembered how elated and happy he'd been. True, he was disappointed in House's deception. But even in the end, he took solace in the fact that House would live. "So is that why he's such a bastard? He blames himself? I mean it is obvious he does, he said as much!" He asked, he felt as though he were going to doze off, and he pulled himself back from the edge of sleep once more.

"No. He was a bastard when he was little. He was a bastard as a teenager. He was even a bastard while married to Eve. But, he was... not like he is now. He was still human then. He isn't now. Just some robot programmed to insult people. Now he just doesn't really care about anything except his work. But I think sometimes, he..."

"When he tries to save Eve through other people, he's still in there somewhere?" Chase asked. For a moment, he remembered what House had been like about Ester and her case. How he kept trying to 'solve' it, even years later. It wasn't until he finally managed it, that he could put it behind him. Somehow though, he doubted it mattered how many people Turner saved. Eve would always haunt him.

"I think so. It's the first time I've seen the old fire in his eyes in a while. He wants more tests done on you. He just has no idea what tests or what we should be looking for. Just that, he wants more tests." House shrugged, leaning forward and putting his elbows on Chase's bed. "I know Foreman wants to do a few more bone scans, try to see if you're somehow losing density. But even he said he didn't see anything in the last set of x-rays."

Chase sighed. "I'll go through any of the tests, I suppose. So long as they are covered by the Insurance." He just did not have the money for a huge hospital bill. Even with his pay, he couldn't afford it.

House pressed his lips together and then said. "Anything not covered... we'll... we'll take care of it. Cuddy will work with us on the billing. Don't worry about it. Right now, the only thing you should worry about, is getting better. Because, this... is not fun. I don't like being on this side of things. The chairs are hard and my butt keeps falling asleep. So you have to get better so I can sit in better chairs! Besides, my feet are cold. You're really screwing with my sleep too. So, just lay there and stop trying to die on us."

"Beeecause it is all about you." Chase teased a little.

"Of course it is." House leaned back and put his feet up on the edge of Chase's bed. Chase immediately saw why House was complaining of cold feet. He was wearing his slippers instead of real shoes. He was also still wearing his pajama bottoms. Thin material.

Cameron slipped back through the curtain and stood at the foot of the bed. Hands in her pocket, she asked. "If I ask you how you feel, are you going to give me an honest answer?" There was no anger or accusation in her voice. It was just kind, yet neutral.

"I have damage to my heart and just experienced arrhythmia. Safe to say I feel like I've been run over by a truck. Twice." Chase admitted as House put his feet back down and shifted his chair closer to the bed. He turned it to face Cameron at an angle. "I'm tired."

She rolled her eyes at House and gave him a faint smile. "House. I'm not going to attack him or try to crawl into bed with him. I'm just being a friend. But it is so sweet of you to stand guard over him."

The glare that House sent her would have reduced anyone else to dust where they stood. But she just kept smiling that small amused smile.

"I'm not sweet. I'm not standing guard over him! I'm..." His eyes darted from side to side as he tried to think of an alternative explanation for what he was doing. "I'm... coming up blank. DAMN IT! Somehow, I blame you." He turned on the last, and pointed at Chase.

"It's because you're tired, and about to pass out. Go find someplace to sleep." Chase prompted. He looked to Cameron. "Give him a raincheck on his snarky comment for later?" In truth he wondered about what was going on himself. Did House care? Was it possible? Was he even truly capable? His head hurt and he was tired. He decided that he'd think about it more later. Right now, he didn't want to come to any hasty conclusions. Particularly those based on what Turner had to say.

Cameron smiled and bobbed her head in agreement. "I'll come back later, and he can insult me and my intelligence then." She promised. "Until then, get better. And both of you, get some rest. They'll be moving you to your room in a few minutes." She disappeared behind the curtain, leaving them alone in semi-private as she went to check on other patients.

Wilson swept in from the other side, looking impeccable and put together as always, even if he appeared to have a harried look on his face. The words 'mother hen' came to Chase's mind.

House's eyes had slid shut in the time Cameron had disappeared and he had almost nodded off. So exhausted, it had literally only taken a few seconds. Chase himself had started to drift off. With Wilson's appearance they both blinked awake as House said. "Grand Central Station, how may we direct your call?"

"Are you all right? I just heard this morning. Cuddy called me about twenty minutes ago... you should have called me last night!" Wilson waved his hands for a second before putting them back on his hips. He needed that flowered apron. Maybe a feather duster to hold so he could shake it at them while he lectured. Chase almost giggled at the image and then realized they must have him on something nice in the IV. Either that, or he was so tired he was losing his mind finally.

"Didn't really think about it." House finally admitted after a moment, looking away and then up at the ceiling, folding his arms over his chest. "I was a bit preoccupied at the time. You know, with Chase nearly dying... again. He's making it a bad habit. Do they have Dier's anonymous yet? A twelve step program to get out of the habit of scaring the hell out of other people in the middle of the night by trying to stop breathing?"

"Are you all right?" Wilson asked, coming up beside the bed, ignoring House completely. "This... we didn't cause this did we, fighting in the hall like we did?" He had guilt all over his face and Chase was quickly shaking his head no.

"No, no, no. I was asleep when it happened. I woke up and my chest was hurting. I couldn't hardly breathe, and my heart was beating too fast. It... I honestly don't think it had anything to do with you or House. It was just my heart acting up. Happens to a lot of people with heart damage." He tried to assure. "And House needs some real sleep. He's not been sleeping well."

"Tattletale." House told Chase, his arms still crossed over his chest.

"Turner is in Cuddy's office trying to get your department to take Chase as a case. He's insisting there are underlying causes to his condition." Wilson warned. "He brought Bannon in as well. Bannon isn't completely convinced, but she's been working with Turner for so long, her argument is 'it won't hurt nothing, so we might as well. And if there is an underlying cause, it is best to know before it kills him.'"

House rubbed his leg and after a moment nodded. "I figured he'd do that. I can't decide if it is because of Eve, or if he's right and the fact that I can't be objective is being detrimental."

"Can't it be both?" Wilson asked with a small snort. "You've not been objective since this all began. The moment he came to you and asked for a pain prescription, you stopped being objective. But that's not a bad thing, House! You're... you're..." He broke off, looking lost. "This is a good thing. Connecting to another person finally. Someone you can... identify with. Forming attachments is not bad or evil. It's a good thing! I'm glad you have! I've been proud of you recently!"

"But how am I going to do this case?" House asked, irritated and glaring at Wilson. "I..."

"You have help. We... we... keep you on the track. I don't know." Wilson said desperately. "But I do not want you..." He waved his hands around frantically. "Going backward! You've been doing so well!"

"This is not going to work." House shakes his head. "I've always told people, that you have to objective with the patient. I... have lost that somewhere down the line. Just like, if you were in that bed. I'd have a hell of a time."

"But you would and could do it, because you wouldn't want me to die. Because then, you'd have to buy your own lunch, and we know how you hate to do that." Wilson offered a small smile.

"Yeah, true. But, what do I get out of keeping Chase alive?" House asked.

Wilson looked at Chase and seemed to be trying to figure it out himself. Chase couldn't answer, because he didn't have one. Didn't know what House would get out of having Chase live. Not that he was particularly dying. He was just... dealing with medical conditions.

"You get another friend." Wilson finally settled on. He had a very 'careful' look on his face. As though he might say the wrong thing, and House would rebel. Start rejecting it all and backslide. "One that when you say it hurts. Truly knows that it does. One that understands. That's got to be worth something too."

House scratched behind his ear and seemed to be considering it. "How about he buys me breakfast? You buy lunch. He buys breakfast. If I can get a third friend. They can buy me dinner and I'll be set for life!"

Chase chuckled, amused. "I think I can handle buying breakfast."

"Well then, let's poke holes in you! I want a full blood work up, CBC, Chem-20, tox-screen... the full deal! As well as the read-outs from the ECG. I want an EEG." He was on his feet and moving, suddenly more awake than he had been mere minutes ago. His second wind. "I'll be back. I have to make out a list of tests to run... New X-rays, and compare them to the last two sets... Oh, and I want a bone biopsy and..." He was still talking as he was walking out, cane, slippers, and pajama pants and all.

"He sounds like he's making a list to Santa Claus." Chase stared after him in faint horror.

"Well, we just gave him Christmas early. He's just got what amounts to full permission to run every test he can think of, and make up some that doesn't even exist yet." Wilson tried to sound philosophical.

Chase reached out and snagged his sleeve. "Don't let him take my brain! I think he eats them."

Wilson burst out laughing. "I promise that I won't let him have the whole thing, if it comes to that."

Chase frowned, and grumped. "I like my brain. Very fond of it. Had it my whole life."

"Yeah, well... maybe it won't come to that." Wilson patted his hand. "I'll be back soon. I have to make sure he and Turner haven't driven Cuddy to a nervous breakdown yet and forced her to climb the clock tower with a gun."

"Yes, that's probably wise." Chase nodded to himself watching Wilson leave.

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	50. Chapter 50

Because he was an actual doctor that was employed by the hospital, they gave him a private room. In fact, they gave him his former room. "They should just put my name on the door and be done with it." Chase sighed as they helped him move from one bed to the other, trying to keep wires and tubes from twisting and turning. He'd already been down for X-rays. Soon they'd start the 'poke him with holes' part of the program.

"Aw, Doctor Chase. It won't be too bad." RJ promised, tucking him in. It reminded him of the way people on television tucked their children in. The other nurse left the room as soon as they were done, leaving RJ to tend Chase. "We'll take really good care of you."

"Which department do you actually work in?" Chase finally asked. He'd eventually dozed off in the ER before being taken for tests and then brought up, but woke as soon as he was moved. He was tired but he did not want to go to sleep. There was a fear that if he did, he'd wake up during another attack. Or worse? He'd never wake up again!

"Technically? I'm a floater. But I've been working under Turner and Bannon. I'm their main go-fer. Go fer this, go fer that." He smiled. "It's not too bad. And, hey, at least here your friends can visit! Hop, skip, and a jump away! Well, that is if they actually hopped, skipped, or jumped." RJ offered with a small smile. "I don't think they really do that too much."

He was closer to diagnostics, so he figured it made sense to bring him here. He'd have care by the nurses that worked for Wilson's department, and House could come down and bug him. He'd watch some television and eat some lunch while his team ran around running tests.

RJ finished getting everything re-arranged and smoothed out before disappearing. Only to return about half an hour later lugging a very large white board into the room. Then he pulled out the markers and lay them on the ledge. "Um... I was told to bring this down here." He explained after looking at Chase's very confused look.

"Sooo... I did." He said awkwardly. "Um... you sure your friend isn't going to kill me and bury my body in the backyard? I just ask for my personal information. So I can finish making out my last will and testament. That kind of thing."

"I'm sure. He's mostly bark. The only time he bites is when he's cornered. Though, watch the cane... that's like a mood meter sometimes." Chase advised, giving him a faint smile. "Just let it roll off you like water off a duck's back. He just has a strange sense of humor, sometimes."

"Um... this is probably inappropriate, but... do you mind if I ask you a personal question?" RJ asked shyly.

"Well, sure. I might not answer. But you can ask?" Chase carefully answered. Curious, but at the same time fearful of what that question was.

"Is it true..." RJ trailed off and flushed slightly.

"Is what true?" Chase asked, narrowing his eyes a little, but then a tiny little smile formed on his lips. He'd wondered if House had made any headway on his side of the rumor-war. Looked like he had!

RJ looked down and then away. "Um... never mind. It's none of my business." He cleared his throat.

"Noooo... is what true? I want to know now?" Chase smiled a little more. Deeply curious now.

RJ was staring at him suddenly, his eyes widening before he quickly rushed forward and grabbed one of the clothes that the nurses tended to leave out for general use. He shoved it up to Chase's nose. "Nosebleed!"

Chase frowned, and pulled the cloth down and was shocked to see the bright red blood. He pinched his nose and started to take care of it while RJ quickly turned around and wrote 'Nosebleed' on the board. He capped the marker and then ran out of the room, returning several minutes later with the cart to take blood.

"It's never done that before... No, well, it has. But usually when I'm in dry air." Chase explained. "You know how winter is..."

RJ shook his head while he wrapped the tubing around Chase's arm. "No, no, no... nothing ignored. Captain's orders!"

Vial after vial of blood drawn. Labeling each one.

He looked at Chase's arm and put a little bandage on it. Then he spirited the blood samples off to be analyzed. As he pushed the cart out, someone passed him on the way in.

It was the woman that Turner had called Eileen. She still had the severe look on her face, and if anything, it was more serious today. Her hair was in a tight bun, pulling her skin back just the slightest bit around her face. Turning to him, she introduced herself and was right down to business. "I'm Dr. Eileen Bannon. I'm Dr. Turner's partner. He and I have been in practice together for a rather long time. I've been his partner for fifteen years and have known him even longer, and thus I am very familiar with how he will wish to work on your case. I want you, to list any and all symptoms that you've had recently. Even if you do not see them as important or connected to the problems you've experienced."

She went to the white board and frowned at the word nosebleed. Looking over at him, her lips tightened to see that he still had the barest touch of red around his nose. Frowning, she wrote the words 'lightheaded-dizziness-fainting, muscle spasms-legs/feet/hands, compression fractures, fractures-general, myocardial infarction-arrhythmia-tachycardia, shortness of breath, muscle weakness, absent seizures'. As she looked off a paper in the file she held in her other hand.

Her handwriting was neat and tidy. Rounded. Whereas RJ's had been scrawled.

"Can you think of anything else?" She asked, turning to look over his shoulder. "Oh, yes, and Dr. House said he'll be down shortly. He's... I believe the words he used was 'assembling the troops'." She raised her brow, and he had the impression that she was amused by his word choice.

"He does tend to come off as something of either a petty tyrant, or a dictator." Chase smiled slightly. "And... I... honestly don't know of any more symptoms. Oh, I suppose... um... occasional constipation? And my stomach tends to hurt after eating."

She wrote them down, nodding to herself. "Yes, Tom tends to act as such as well. I find it is easier to silently stare at him. But then, I don't know if that just works for me, or if it would work for others."

"Numbness!" He remembered suddenly. "Usually in my hands, feet... arms... sometimes legs. He'd probably outstare me."

She wrote it down as well, nodding to herself. "I have cats. I can stare for a really long time."

For some reason that made him chuckle, and smile. His opinion of her as being too severe and stern was starting to change. Her face still carried a particular look, and her eyes still looked cold. But she didn't seem nearly as bad as he thought she'd be. But she was very 'quick' and abrupt. Her conversation style was to the point with no real preamble. She made statements that one had to connect together to the subject in your head to understand what she meant.

"Um, I... I can see where cats would be good staring practice." He laughed quietly.

"Tom sometimes reminds me of a cat. The way he can be finicky, or bitchy. The way he 'claws' someone with his words, when he's in a mood." She said in amusement as she checked the machines that were hooked up to Chase. "I've even seen him randomly comb his hair in the middle of the day. A sulky, bitchy cat from hell."

"Fifteen years in partnership, safe to say you think he's all right, all in all?" He asked the woman. He was curious, because how could someone work with another person for years and years if they were such a bastard? How did she stand him? "I mean... you're still in partnership with him?"

She shrugged a shoulder. "He was better before Eve passed. Still a jerk, but better." She admitted. "But I'm used to him. It is impossible for him to offend me. Before forming the partnership, we went to school together. Did our residency together. I've seen him at his worst, and I've seen him at his best. He's like... broccoli. You don't necessarily like it to begin with. But you can eventually get used to the taste. And eventually, you might even start to like it."

Eileen scratched beside her eye and stifled a slight yawn, finishing the notations before slipping the chart back.

"Sounds like House, kind of. Though, I'm not sure I could get used to Turner like that." He admitted. "He's so much... he... goes for the throat in a way that House doesn't."

She kind of shrugged and shook her head. "He didn't used. It's amazing what you can get used to." She commented. "I'm used to him. He's used to me. There's nothing he can say or do that he can use against me. When he insults you, or makes snide remarks. Just ignore it. If you react to them, and act offended and angry... you just feed him. You give him a sense of power that he doesn't otherwise have. It makes him... taller. If you merely stand there, raise a brow and tilt your head in a manner that suggests 'are you done?' He scowls, and perhaps will continue. But he will never physically injure or harm you. And he does stop at some point when he realizes it won't work. And, if it is truly getting to you, you have to ask yourself why. Took me a two years and three therapists before I realized I was giving him power over me. Med school."

"Wait. Why are you telling me all this?" Chase asked her, confused and curious. He frowned up at her. She was giving him tools to deal with a man she worked with and probably considered some kind of friend. She was telling him ways of getting 'around' him. She was undermining Turner!

"Because. He's going to be in your life, in some form or another for a long time to come. Not just because of your heart condition, but because if you're connected to Greg, you're sure to run into Tom at some point. Especially now. And more importantly, I like it here." She admitted. With another shrug, she swept from the room, off to report her findings.

He nearly smiled as he realized, she'd basically told him the same thing parents all over the world told their children. 'Ignore them, and they go away. Eventually.' She also told him another fact. She and House knew each other as well, somehow.

He finished cleaning his nose of blood, and rested his eyes. But he told himself, he was not going to sleep. He didn't want to sleep. He was not going to go to sleep.

The squeak of the marker on the board brought him back to awareness and he startled when he realized he had in fact fallen asleep. He didn't feel like he'd slept much, if at all? But it frightened him. He frowned, he knew it was silly to be afraid of going to sleep. He needed rest. Staying awake wouldn't help him. But last night had scared the hell out of him far more than he was comfortable with admitting.

Turning his head, he saw Cameron at the board this time. She wrote underneath Bannon's words. 'Irritability, depression, fatigue' After a thoughtful pause, she added. 'indigestion, gas, smelly stools.' She paused again and then wrote. 'Rash on rear and back that comes and goes.'

His eyes widened on that one and he felt his face flush. She was obviously writing down anything and everything she could remember from their time together. But good lord, this was embarrassing! Not that she'd ever said anything after he'd come out of the bathroom, and he'd used the air freshener, thank you very much. It wasn't like anyone's smelled like roses! But to have it written out like that for all and sundry to see? And his rash was his business! Just a minor food allergy. Not...

He deflated as he realized why patients lie so much. It's embarrassing as hell. Still, he didn't have to like it.

She turned around, capping the marker and realized his eyes were open. "Oh! Um... I didn't wake you, did I?" She asked.

He found himself staring at her and blinked. She seemed to be repeating his name over and over again. "Yes, what?" He asked.

"Did you hear me?" She asked as she went to one of the machines and read the readout.

"I don't know." For the first time honest about it. "I remember asking if you woke me, and then you saying my name."

"You had a seizure." She sighed, rubbing her head. She grimaced and noted it in his chart. She still had the tense look on her face a few minutes later. "To think, we used to believe you just weren't paying attention or were daydreaming."

Her face was pinched and she had the tension line between her eyes. She was upset, about something. And not just his seizures. She was wanting to yell at someone.

"What's wrong? You look like you're in a mood." He said, trying to keep his voice light. It was still awkward to talk to her, just yet.

"Nothing you've done. Just had a bit of a run in with Dr. Turner." She frowned, pressing her lips together in irritation. "He called me an air-headed bimbo. Where does he get off?" She asked, finally raising her voice and gesturing with the hand that had the pen in it.

Chase opened his mouth, and almost started to speak. But then he closed it and thought very carefully about the situation. Tilting his head, he had an idea. A very evil idea. A wonderful awful terrible idea. He had to do it! Had to!

"Try not to take it personally..." He sighed, looking down and playing with a thread from his blanket. He had to inject just the right amount of... pity... in his voice.

"Not take air-headed bimbo personally?" She asked, incredulous.

"He called me an idiotic jackass." He pointed out. "It's... just ignore it. Sticks and stones." He shook his head. "He's just feeling threatened. His only true weapon is his mouth. He's pushing people away, so he can't be hurt. Again."

"And you know this... how?" She asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Because House told me about him. Explained it. I also talked to his partner, Bannon." He explained, folding his hands in his lap. "House and Turner are cousins. He watched Turner grow up. Saw what happened to him."

There it was, the interested face. The wall and shield lowering. The empathy was peeking over the edge. Perrrfect. "What happened to him?"

"Well, for one, you see how big he is. Or rather, he isn't. House admitted that by the time he was ten, a lot of the other kids in the family were actively plotting against him. Imagine how tiny he was at age ten?" It wasn't a lie. It just wasn't the whole truth. "You see how tall House is. How tall his dad is! I imagine most the family is like that. Imagine how scary that would be, being so small with larger people trying to intimidate you? He may not have been able to defend himself with his fists, but he could make them feel as small as he was with his mouth."

She looked sympathetic for a second, but then frowned. "Yes, but he's what? Almost forty now?"

He nodded. "I know. I know... but that was just the start. That's just where he learned to do it." He gave a heartfelt sigh and said. "The reason he and House were arguing this morning is, because Turner has been convinced something more is wrong. But, until now, my symptoms have always been easy to explain. There were 'reasons' for all of them. Nothing that had an overall... indication... of any one disease. But the reason he is pushing it so hard is because he lost his wife, to a misdiagnosis."

And there was the true sympathy face with a touch of hurt puppy. "Aw, does he blame House?" She frowned.

He shook his head. "No, nothing like that. It happened a year before this department was even formed. A year before House had his own misdiagnosis. Her final diagnosis before death was flu. But autopsy showed meningitis. She got it from an ear infection, which she got from a cold."

She slowly sunk down into a chair, looking sad. "That's terrible."

Chase nodded gravely. "He's never been the same since. Bannon has worked with him for years. She knew him long before his wife Eve died. She confirmed he's been... like that... since. Cold and dead inside. Eve was the only one he'd ever really loved. They dated in school, married as soon as they were able... and were together until the day she died. He's not even dated since then, and that was ten years ago."

Oh yes, score! Direct hit! Pure empathy was achieved!

"Is he trying to... I don't know... not look at other women or such, or notice them, because he wants to remain true to her memory?" She asked, wrinkling her brow.

"I don't know. But the fact that he thought you were dressed in a... revealing... manner... indicates that he noticed. But it does kind of sound like he doesn't think he should notice. Maybe he's hoping to push you away, and not see you like that." Chase said very carefully.

She looked very thoughtful. It was her plotting and conspiracy face! This was going so well.

"As I said, I spoke to Bannon earlier, and she told me the best way to handle Turner. You stand your ground, look him in the eye and wait. You can even use the 'are you done yet?' look. But don't take offense. Don't rise to the bait. Don't runaway! It's... kind of like dealing with House, in a way. Only Turner is so depressed and in the hole of despair, that... that everything has turned to ice. But this morning? I saw him argue passionately. So, I don't think it is hopeless." Perfect, compare him just enough to House to remind her of her initial attraction TO House. Make him look just enough sad and damaged... Plot. Engaged!

House finally arrived. In his hands was a very large envelope. "Chatting?" He asked, giving them both a level look.

"He had a seizure just a few minutes ago. Absent." She told House, but was still distracted.

"Tattletale." Chase said quietly. But inside he was giggling with glee and clapping his hands in accomplishment. Turner was now dooooooomed! DOOOMED! Cameron would seek out and focus all her loving, caring, healing energy upon his poor damaged soul. Revengeeeeeee was SWEET! He'd live to regret pissing off Robert Chase! Mwhahahahaaaaa! He may have had a point this morning, but still pissed Chase off in the meantime.

"Now now children, behave. Chase! You have had a rash on your tuckus? Have you been a bad boy?" House said. "Chase? Are you having another seizure?"

She jumped up to look, and shook her head. He realized that he was being spoken to and broke off from his mental celebration. "I'm fine. Was just thinking... about... stuff."

"Rash. Tuckus. Did you play with the wrong people?" House asked, giving him a strange look, before looking back at Cameron.

"It's just a rash and it comes and goes. It's just an allergy! Eat the wrong food, it shows up." He argued, arms crossed over his stomach. He realized he was pouting, but didn't seem to be able to stop.. "I've been tested for all STDs. I'm clean. Do you want to order the tests so I can prove it?"

"First. I'm not your doctor on this case. Not really. Wilson is. Still. With the addition of Foreman and Turner. Cuddy wouldn't allow me to take the case because of the conflict of interest since I'm your medical proxy. But? Because I am, I have access to everything I need to make 'decisions' in regard to your health." He gave up on glaring at Cameron, and was in lecture mode.

He turned on one of the light boxes on the wall and clipped the new X-ray on beside an older one. "This? Was taken just before your surgery." He pointed to the one he and Wilson had taken. "This, is now. Taken before you were brought to your room." He pointed. "See the rods? They're holding up pretty well. But..."

He pulled them down and put two more x-rays up. "This, is your hip area, obviously. This is when Wilson and I took it. This... is now." He pointed at it.

"Oh, my god." Cameron had wrinkled her brow and peered at it closer. She'd put on her glasses to work and frowned. "There's been additional damage in just the last couple of weeks."

He frowned and turned to Chase who was staring wide eyed at the x-rays. "You also have a couple of hairline cracks in your ribs, and in your wrist. I imagine the meds are helping to dull the pain."

Chase rubbed a hand down his face. "One decent bump would probably break them?"

House nodded. "Have you been having bone pain?" He asked Chase.

"Ah, but... well duh. I mean, it wasn't as though I didn't have a reason." Chase defended himself.

"While he was down there, they did a bone density test." House frowned as he looked at the results. "Chase? You have the bone density of an old woman. My mother could probably kick your ass about now. Didn't you learn in medical school that milk does a body good?"

"I drink milk." Chase shook his head. "What the hell is going on?"

"That's what we're going to find out. Because, a thirty three year old man should not have osteoporosis." House shook his head. "You... have gnomes picking away at your bones!"

"Could be cancer." Chase covered his face with his hands and groaned. He feared cancer to a degree. His father died from it. His grandparents had also died from it. Intestinal and colon. Cancer ran in his family. This was like a nightmare.

"We don't know that yet." House said testily. "Just because Wilson is your doctor of note, does not mean I'm willing to give you to him in fact! You're mine until I say you're not. And it isn't cancer, until I say it is! It's... something else."

Cameron hurried to the board and wrote it down near the word fractures. 'Bone pain, loss of bone density.' "We need that bone biopsy either way." She said.

"And a bone scan. Tell Wilson he needs to order them. If you can't find Wilson, get Turner or Foreman." House sat down in the chair next to Chase's bed.

She nodded, hurrying out to find one of them.

"Why are you letting them write on your white board? I thought you were the only one to touch the markers?" Chase smiled slightly. "And why isn't your team working on this?"

"They're too new to trust with something like this. And since I can't be your doctor of note, I'm having to... improvise. Since I can't seem to be objective and distance myself far enough away from this to look at your symptoms without automatically trying to explain them away in simple terms. I'm... letting them figure out what are symptoms and what aren't. They write it down, and then we all look at it together as a whole." House admitted, though with an obvious trace of reluctance as he rubbed his lower jaw.

Chase looked up at him and gave him a faint smile. "House? I... I do appreciate everything you've done."

"Don't you dare start talking like that. That's how people sound when they think they're going to die! And you aren't dying. You're being a pain in the ass. There is a difference." House held up a hand, shaking his head.

"I know. I'm not dying. I refuse to believe I will. But I still want you to know I appreciate everything you've done so far, and will be doing." Chase sighed, looking up at the ceiling.

"Does that mean I'm forgiven?" House asked quietly. "I've been wondering that, since this morning."

"For... what?" Chase asked in at first confusion, and then nodded to himself, figuring it out. But at the same time, he wanted House to admit there was something to forgive in the first place.

"For..." He kind of shook his head and grimaced. "For last year. You know... the... hitting you, and the... I still insist none of you were supposed to find out about the brain cancer thing... and the... letting you go without... a better..." He gestured vaguely.

It wasn't really an apology. He never said sorry. He was asking, if he was forgiven. And there is the big difference right there. And Chase realized that for House, to say sorry was almost like giving up another piece of his pride. But the fact that he realizes he might need to be forgiven? Indicated that offense was noted, and that he knew he was wrong, on some level. And you don't concern yourself with whether or not you have forgiveness, if you don't have some trace of guilt.

These things were remembered from his time in the seminary. Sometimes, he would reject all that he learned there. But sometimes, like now, he remembered why he embraced it to begin with. He closed his eyes and said. "I understand why you hit me. I thought about it, at the time of the 'scare' with the cancer. And I recall that you were detoxing, sick, and... during the moment, I kept... touching you. In a manner that could almost be aggressive." He said it very carefully and slowly, remembering the moment as he spoke. "I kept grabbing at your shoulder, to stop you from walking. But it could almost be seen as 'pushing' at you. Every time I touched you, you would pull back... and look at me... and... at the time I didn't see or realize it. I didn't analyze it then. You were getting angry, and you were losing control. You hit me, yes, but I don't think you meant to."

House looked down, and Chase thought for a flicker of a moment, he saw shame in House's face and eyes. It was quickly gone, but he gave a sharp curt nod. "I would not normally hit an employee. No. I was out of control. Yes."

"I had forgiven you that, at the time of the cancer scare. I thought, we were going to lose you. I hugged you, because..." He sighed letting it trail off.

"You care." House finished for him.

"What I don't understand is, why you would go that far? That far to get high?" He squinted at him. "That, was harder to forgive. Because I didn't understand why."

House scratched his eyebrow and leaned forward so he could rest his chin on his cane. Chase realized at that point, that House had found fresh clothes since earlier in the morning.

"It wasn't to get high." House said quietly. "If I honestly wanted to get 'high', I could do that a lot easier with the drugs I could get hold of almost anywhere." He grimaced.

"Then what was it?" Chase asked.

"It was going to be... the ultimate... anti-depressant." He growled the word. "It works directly on the brain and makes the person 'happy'. Even though they are in pain and dying, they are happy. I'm not dying. But... I'm in pain." He finished with a disgusted look.

Chase felt as though ice water was splashed on him as every missing block fell into place from that time period. "If you're happy, you can ignore the pain a bit more, and take less vicodin. Less vicodin means more time before your liver gives up on you."

"I was actually hoping that eventually I could taper off completely, and then use one of the other pain management drugs. Just..." He shook his head and shrugged.

"The treatment then has merit." Chase said quickly.

"But the study isn't being done for chronic pain. It is being done for terminal patients. So... I couldn't get in, just because of my leg." House explained.

"Bloody hell." Chase sunk deeper into his pillow and groaned to himself. "I wish I had known." He said the last bit to himself.

"I didn't think you or any of the others would approve." House pointed out.

"They wouldn't have. But I would have understood why you wanted it. I'm not so superior and set in my ways that I wouldn't have... hidden... a few facts. Not if it meant it would help you. But then, you didn't know that either." He paused and asked. "Have you tried other anti-depressant trials? The ones that do target chronic pain?" He asked.

House shrugged a shoulder and said. "Wilson started secretly dosing me at one point, because he thought since I was so unhappy? He'd try to help me. But he's going for the depression angle, because he himself takes anti-depressants because he's depressed. Trycyclic antidepressants have moderate interactions with the vicodin. And, I don't like how I feel on them anyway. They make me feel hazy. I don't like feeling hazy. At all! Desyrel also has moderate reactions to Vicodin. Wellbutrin has severe reactions to Vicodin. And regardless of what Cuddy and Wilson think, I want to live. Zoloft and Paxil have moderate reactions. Fuck MAOIs. No way will I take those. So that leaves good old fashioned prozac. And there is no data on how effective it is against chronic pain."

He paused and then added. "But I've been trying it anyway." He sighed.

Chase looked up at him in complete surprise.

"It's easier than having Wilson randomly spiking my food until he thinks I'm appropriately 'happy' enough." House explained. "And sometimes, it's hard for me to ignore hope."

"It's not really been helping though, has it." Chase asked quietly.

House shook his head, frowning. "I didn't think it would. Not really. That's why I didn't try the prozac first. So I was hoping a direct pop to the brain..." He tapped the top of his head with a finger as he sat up straighter. "Didn't get it, so now I'm trying the prozac."

Chase was quiet for a moment and knew he could ask about the firing, but by this point? It didn't matter to him anymore. He thought he could safely say, it wasn't personal. Instead, he said. "I don't think there's anything TO forgive at this point."

He was rewarded with a very faint smile as House squeezed his cane and once more put his chin on his cane. Chase choose to interpret that as 'thank you'.

House stared blankly at the symptom list. "You have gnooooomes... in your booooooones." He intoned.

nosebleed lightheaded-dizziness-fainting, muscle spasms-legs/feet/hands, numbness- arms/hands/legs/feet bone pain- loss of bone density compression fractures, fractures-general, myocardial infarction- arrhythmia-tachycardia, shortness of breath, muscle weakness, absent seizures constipation-stomach pain-indigestion-gas-smelly stools irritability-depression fatigue rash-on rear and back that come and go

Wilson stepped in, looked at the board and then took the marker. He wrote Cancer? on the other side of the board.

"It's not cancer. Doesn't explain the neuro or stomach-bowel problems." House insisted.

"It would if it is going places it shouldn't go. Or it could be unconnected." Wilson said with a heavy sigh. "We're going to test for cancer. We're setting up for the bone biopsy now. House, do you wish to sit in on the procedure?"

He took a deep breath, held it and then gave a curt nod. Chase was secretly relieved. Now that everything was written on the board? Now that there were new test results proving something was literally wrong? He was actually, honestly... worried. Scared really.

"It's still not cancer. But we still need the biopsy to prove me right later. To prove what it is."

"Just sit tight, Chase. We'll be back for you soon. Try to rest in the meantime." Wilson gently reached out and touched Chase's arm as House stood up.

"It's going to be fine." House told him, his eyes narrowed and the smallest trace of a smile. "It's not cancer. It's... something else."

But what? House obviously didn't know exactly what yet. But something was starting to form in his mind. Chase has seen that look in House's eyes too many times over the years to know otherwise! House was on to something!

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	51. Chapter 51

"You have an idea." He confronted House later while he lay on his side. House and Wilson were both in procedure scrubs with gloves on their hands as Chase waited for the test to begin. RJ was lurking in the background, ready to do whatever he was told. He had a feeling sometimes that RJ was like a spy, of some sort. Nice and sweet and then reporting back to Turner. But that was fanciful thought getting away from him. RJ just seemed to get along with everyone.

"I have an idea." House nodded, standing in front of Chase while Wilson took position behind him. "I also have a giant teddy bear in my office in my chair. But I'm trying not to think too hard about that."

Chase noticed RJ duck away and concentrate on something on the far side of the room.

"I know nothing about the teddy bear. Do you think you know what it is?" Chase asked after a second, lifting his brows. "Would you like to share with the class?"

"I have an idea." House repeated in the same tone he'd used when he stated it the first time.

"Houuuuse..." Chase told him, even as he reached out and grabbed House's hands as Wilson started sticking him with a needle to numb his skin. It had hurt and he'd reached for the nearest thing. Well, that was what he was going to tell himself, later.

House held his hands down, so he couldn't try to reach back to stop the needle. "Ow, why does the bloody numbing needle hurt too? I mean, it numbs it so it doesn't hurt! And yet it hurts and stings too!" He bitched.

"Just think of all those kids over the years that you told 'oh this is just a little sting it won't really hurt'? Now you know how much of a liiiiie that was!" House said, sounding amused.

"It's not cancer." Chase said, looking up at him. House was sounding way too amused for it to be something serious. Even if House was in denial, he was sounding too amused.

"It's not cancer." House assured. "You have pissed off gnomes in your body."

"What is it?" Chase asked again. "What are the gnomes doing?"

"They are rioting, resisting, and kicking things out of your body." House repeated. "They want... milk! Or rather, they don't like it! You don't have it, even when you have it. We just have to find out where it keeps going. Does your tum-tum hurt after you drink dairy?" He asked.

Chase hesitated and then said. "Yes. But I still drink milk. The intolerance isn't enough to put me off of it."

"Just like mommy always told us to. Because it makes our bones big and strong. Only your bones aren't getting big and strong. They are getting thin and weak. Those bits of calcium and yummy vitamins are being side tracked and frog-marched out of your body. Banned because they piss your stomach off and in retaliation it is rioting on the way out. We need to find out what the calcium did that got it into so much trouble, that management got a restraining order!" House explained. "Pressure coming." He warned.

Chase closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, squeezing House's hands as Wilson shoved the special needle down through a small incision and to the bone. He shoved it through the bone with a twisting motion and then pulled it out. But the pain didn't really stop. It still hurt. "Oh, god is it over? Is it over? What happened?" He was squeezing House's hands tightly and tears were rising in his eyes as the sharp ache came from his upper thigh bone. His hip area.

Wilson made a small noise and was suddenly reaching over. "Give him pain meds and get ortho."

"What? Why?" House demanded.

"I just... I broke the bone." He admitted with a sad sigh. "His bones are too..."

"God damn it!" House swore. "Get that analyzed. It's going to be abnormal. We just need to know how-so."

"Get me morphine and someone from ortho." House ordered as RJ ran off to get help. Wilson hurried off with the sample, making it first priority.

"It..." Chase closed his eyes and tried not to move his leg.

"I know. Just stay still. It's all right. They'll immobilize it, and we're going to get on top of this." He told Chase, leaning forward and then awkwardly put a hand on his head, soothing the hair back. He pet the hair, and looked away. Unsure. "Turner was right that... that usually I would have pursued this. Caught it before it got this far. I really..."

"Don't start that again. Please?" Chase told him in a pain roughened voice, squeezing his hand between both of his now. "If this is anyone's fault, at all, it is mine. You can't treat someone, if they don't want treated. I hid or downplayed all the symptoms. I even denied having absent seizures. I convinced myself I didn't have them. Even though I lost the entire car ride home. I wasn't looking out the window. I didn't get hypnotized. I... deluded myself."

House took his hand off his head and started to pull away from Chase's hands when the doctor from ortho appeared pushing a portable x-ray machine ahead of him. But Chase held on to it tighter.

"No... I..." But then he let go, realizing what he was doing. It was then, that he realized he'd grabbed House's hands first to begin with. And then that he tried to rationalize it. Scared of the pain he knew would be coming. Knowing the risk of it breaking. He'd never experienced a biopsy before. Now he knew why children cried during and after them up close and personal. He grimaced and then apologized to House in a low mutter. Chase looked back up and asked. "What do I have then?"

House shook his head after slipping on the lead apron and took his hand back. "Tell anyone about this? And I'll hound you to hell and back." He warned the other doctor. "Only doing this, so... I know you're not screwing it up too bad." It was an extremely lame excuse. "If he rips my hand off, I know you screwed up!"

RJ had returned and smiled at Chase. Chase had a strange urge to laugh, despite the hurt. This was playing right into the 'rumor' that House was secretly nice. But the pain instead just made tears come into his eyes again as he bit his lip. He squeezed House's hands as the doctor worked with his leg to take his x-rays.

Chase saw the moment that House figured it out. He'd never been this close to House when he'd done it back when he was in fellowship. He'd seen it from across the room, but never this close.

House's eyes sparked and widened, moving from side to side as a grin started to form on his face. It was as though he came truly alive, and the sun had come out in his eyes. It was... beautiful. In some... strange... and disconcerting way. Not that he could really appreciate it with some guy securing his leg, and the feel of pain from the new break.

"I got it. I know what is wrong. We've been IDIOTS! It's been there all along!" He beamed at Chase. He still had his hand, but he was slightly swinging it as he gestured with his other hand and spoke. "The good news? You're probably not going to die from what caused all this. The bad news is, your heart is still going to be an issue for a while, not to mention all the rehab and treatment you're going to have to suffer through. The good news is... we can fix this entire mess with pills. The bad news is? It's going to take about six months to a year to reverse all the damage. The good news is... it can be prevented from happening again. The bad news is... you're going to have to change your diet to an extreme measure. The good news is... I'm running out of things to say." He grinned, looking like a lunatic.

Cameron had the syringe of pain medicine in her hand as she followed right behind. "What happened?" She asked, taking hold of the IV and injecting it.

"Bone biopsy." House told her. "Wilson did it right, but his bones didn't like it. Decided to throw a tantrum and break things."

She grimaced and gave him a sympathetic look. "We'll get to the bottom of this."

"Already have. I know what it is. Calcium and Vitamin D is the key. His body needs it, but it doesn't want it. It's like one of those bad love affairs, only with it playing the role of the abusive lover." House told her. "I think it needs couples therapy, fast!"

"Lack of calcium would cause..." She blinked and then almost smiled. "Abnormal heart beat, muscle spasms in the feet and hands, numbness of the extremities."

"And..." House said reaching out and touching around Chase's lips gently. Chase closed his eyes a moment, feeling the pressure, but otherwise... "Numbness around the mouth. When he's mouthing things like a puppy, he's playing with the numbed part. Feels like pressure. Some people have this... thing... where they like to poke at the parts of their body that doesn't have feeling, because it is a sensation in and of itself to have something roll from where there IS feeling, to where there isn't and then back. Kind of like how some people like to play with the sensation of fire and ice. Heat and cold. Or they like to poke at something they've injured, to see if it still hurts."

"What caused it though?" She asked, eyes wide. She looked down at their clasped hands and did a double take, but didn't comment. Chase noticed, but neither commented to explain nor let go of House's hands. Mostly, because one, he was in discomfort and distressed despite the morphine and gripping House's hand gave him something else to focus on. And two, it was funny to see that look on her face. She'd add to the 'nice' rumor without even trying!

"You're going to feel silly." House said, giving her a smirk.

"Just tell me." She sighed, slumping a little with a huff.

"A caused B caused C and luckily we've caught it before it can go to D." He told her.

She waited, almost patiently. Almost.

House released Chase's hand and gestured at her, then pointed with a smile. "Oh, you... no guesses? Fine. He has... among other issues... Osteomalacia. Which is what is causing the fractures, muscular problems, numbness and SOME of his heart problems. But, that isn't all he has. Annnnd this is where we all get to kick ourselves." He shook his head. "He has an autoimmune disease. Celiac disease."

He saw the moment that it connected for Cameron as well. She closed her eyes, winced and literally smacked her forehead. "I feel so...!" She broke off and gave them both a rueful smile.

"Yeah well... you're in good company." House told her. "I just figured it out myself. His father immigrated to Australia. He was originally born in Europe. It's more common in Caucasians and those of European ancestry. Of course, it is more common in women than men. He's lucky he's not started to lose his hair... yet!" House smiled and smirked some more as Chase put a hand up to his head in horror. "Also lucky the rash doesn't get to that pretty face, too."

"Onset can happen any time in their lives." She nodded and sighed. "Lactose intolerant, the rash that comes and goes, just... everything. The Celiac disease causes the Osteomalacia. That causes the fractures, since his back is already pre-damaged as well as sustaining additional damage... and then during the surgery... the blood pressure and such... It even explains the seizures. He's lucky he didn't get anything but absent! And... Celiac is sometimes associated with... blood clotting disorders. Autoimmune diseases can do damage to the heart, and cause... blood clots to form. He throws a clot in his heart, and presto... heart attack!"

Chase closed his eyes and groaned. "Of all the times we've said autoimmune, and it wasn't... this time it is?"

House chuckled and said. "Hey, had to be autoimmune at some point! You just won that particular lottery. All you need is to be on a gluten-free diet, as well as the Vitamin D and Calcium supplements. Let your digestive system heal, keep away from what irritates it..."

Chase sighed. Just his luck.

"We still need a biopsy of your intestines, but I know what we're going to find." House said.

Well, hopefully what they would find. It was also hopeful they didn't find cancer, since Celiac disease could lead to cancer in that area of the body. And lo and behold his grandparents were explained! He wanted to thump his head against the table.

"It's not a bad break." The Ortho doctor said, finished with the x-rays and had gone to develop them. Returning now, he was starting the splinting process. Chase hadn't even noticed he'd left earlier.

House looked over, frowning. "That's new."

The doctor nodded. "It's not widely available yet. It's a hip fixation-traction splint. We're very excited to be trying this new design."

"It's experimental." House stated. "You break him, I get to experiment on you with my cane. Deal?"

The doctor looked at him, looked to where House still had his hand near Chase's and then grimaced and winced before saying. "Deal. Just... if something goes wrong, Try to avoid my face?"

"No promises." House told him.

"I'm going to go tell Dr. Turner and Dr. Foreman what you've figured out! And try to get the rest of the blood results and see how they are doing on the biopsy." Cameron was excited to have a direction and a potential answer. "Oh, before I go... um... do you know if Dr. Turner likes any certain... treats or something? Candy? Cookies?"

House gave her a faintly horrified and shocked look before carefully saying, "Small children?"

She smiled and shook her head, rolling her eyes before heading out the door.

"She's insane." House pronounced. "She's gone around the bend and over the top. She's now officially a lost cause."

Chase just kind of smiled and shrugged. The morphine was definitely working now, and life was improving.

House narrowed his eyes, then looked back at Cameron, then back at Chase. "Oh, young Padawan. You've learned well... He'll never know what hit him. And if anyone can handle him, it would be her."

Chase chuckled as House turned the television and sat down, still in scrubs. Then he realized what House was talking about. He'd Chase tried so hard to stay awake, but drifted off again.

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	52. Chapter 52

"Nooo... no no no no!"

He blinked as he woke to House's horrified denials. Was the test results wrong? Did he have cancer? His heart jumped in his chest and he opened his eyes wide, turning his head to the side to see Wilson and House standing near the door. They were back in their normal clothes and House was... blocking the door?

"House. Just tell them you don't want to see them." Wilson said in a reasonable tone. He gestured at the door and then at House. "You're a big boy. But, I'll hold your hand if you need me to!" The look on his face was pure sarcasm, but it still didn't stop the small spike of... what was that feeling? Jealousy? Nah... well... maybe. No. No, won't think about that right now.

"No. Because that would require me to see them, and I don't want to see them. Make up an excuse. Tell them... tell them I'm with a very very sick patient!" House was practically begging, his arms out to each side while his back was against it, still blocking the door.

"You're being childish." Wilson held up his hands. "Just explain to them that, that you weren't ready for a visit. Or, if you must lie, call them on the cell phone and tell them you're stuck in a clean room for a procedure on your very very sick patient and can't risk coming out and getting covered with germs!"

"I can't lie to her! She'll know!" House protested. Chase remembered that he'd said something like that before. That he couldn't lie to his... mother. Ohhhh... his parents were here!

Well, at least now, he knew it wasn't about him at all.

"You're..." Wilson looked both amused and frustrated as he threw his hands up and looked around and then up. "A grown man, who still can't deal with his parents?"

"I am dealing with them. Not making a choice is still a choice. Avoiding them, is still dealing with them. This is how I deal with them! I stay out of their lives, they stay out of mine. It's all good. They're breaking the rules. They aren't supposed to just... show up! Make them go away!" House tried to order Wilson. "You can do it! You disappoint people all the time, and then they hug you! This will be easy! You don't have to tell them they are dying. Though, if you want to tell my dad he is? Go ahead. I support that decision." House stepped away from the door and limped further into the room.

"House. I'm not going to tell your parents to go away. Be a big boy, and tell them you're busy." Wilson sighed, shaking his head as he brushed past House.

"You're off my Christmas list, buddy!" House told him as Wilson slipped through the door and disappeared.

House stared at the door, not turning around as yet. At least, until Chase called out. "Your parents are here then?"

Limping back to the chair, he sat heavily in it before look up at Chase with a slightly pained look. Then gave one of his sharp single nods. He didn't seem to be in the mood to really talk, but Chase still wanted to verify some things.

"Surprise visit." He said after a moment, looking at House for the confirmation that came a second later.

"Due to Turner's call." He added after a second.

House's grimace was nearly a snarl. "Mom's worried about me now. She forced dad to come up here with her. I had told her there was nothing to be worried about. But she's waiting in my office. And Wilson is a great big..." He pressed his lips together, trying to figure out something dire enough to call him as he gestured aggressively at the door thinking.

"Poo-poo head?" Chase offered since the situation did seem to involve 'kids' and parents. He gave House a thin, but unamused smile.

"That'll work for now." House nodded, letting his head fall back against the chair. "We'll go with that for now."

"Not to... take away... for this latest in the saga of House versus Turner? But, by chance have any of my test results come back?" Chase asked, almost shyly. He raised his brows and tilted his chin down hoping that he wouldn't have to pull teeth with House to get the results.

"Oh, those? Yeah. Confirmed. Oral supplements of vitamin D, calcium, and phosphorus! Reallllly large doses of the Vitamin D and calcium." House sing-songed. "The gnomes will stop picking at your bones, and go celebrate the return of the 'good ale'. In a few weeks, we take more x-rays and we should see improvement! Complete reversal shall be in about oh... six months, maybe more. But less than a year. But..."

"But?" Chase prompted.

"The nerve damage? IS permanent." House tightened his hands around the top of his cane and trained his sight on a spot on the floor. "But the numbness and muscle twitching should stop. But you will still have pain. We... can't really stop that. And the damage to your heart is still an issue."

Chase nodded slowly. "I figured as much. But the condition itself, will be stopped. And that, that is..." He slowly smiled. "That is a... thank you."

"Yeah well... you shouldn't. Thank me. That is." House grumbled.

"We're not doing this again." Chase said very carefully. "It isn't the first time, we started on the wrong track. The important thing is, we got there in the end."

"Except of course, this isn't the end. This isn't going to be like... like in the past. In the past, we diagnosed and then the patient went off somewhere else for the actual treatment. They dealt with recovery somewhere else. We never had to deal with it long term. Wilson treats patients for months, usually years if they are lucky. We always had them for less than a week, if WE were lucky." House explained, his chin propped up on his hands on the cane. "And then, Wilson always has the option of going home and having a break from it all. He's not involved in the minute to minute, second to second life that goes with the illness he's treating."

House looked up at Chase. "This is long term. The diagnosis is just the start of a very very long road."

"No magic." Chase agreed quietly. He looked up at the television, which wasn't yet turned on and tried to figure out how he felt about the situation. About what was going to happen in the days, weeks, months to come. "A bit of a longer haul than you planned for." He said quietly. "I guess... I guess Wilson should look into that nursing home or assisted living, whichever they call it now, idea."

"No."

The word wasn't loud, or forceful. It wasn't said with a trace of emotion. It was just stated.

Chase turned to look at him, frowning. "No... what?" He asked. He raised his brows, afraid to hope for what House was suggesting by that simple word.

"No, you're still not going to a facility or going upstairs." House specified, then reached up and scratched the side of his neck where the gunshot scar was located. "Unless you want to? Do you... want to?"

"Not particularly." Chase admitted. "But I don't think you intended to have a roommate for quite that long." He looked down at his hands. RJ had come and wrapped the hand that had the hairline crack in it, to secure it better. He picked at the bandage and tried to figure out, where this was all going. He felt like he was standing on a road. The start of an empty highway, in which he had no idea what the final destination would be. He hadn't felt like that since he decided to leave Australia originally. He was back to square one in his journey.

"I never intend anything. I never plan anything." House said in a thoughtful voice. "You're staying, if you want to stay. You don't have to move. Come on, might as well stay. I've already broken your hip." He pointed out with a small smile. "That's got to mean something in the scheme of things. No idea what, but something!"

"Technically, Wilson broke my hip. You just watched." Chase smiled slightly, and chuckled. He felt lightly buzzed by the drugs that thrummed through his body, but not particularly high.

"We're a team, he and I. So I get partial credit for breaking your hip." House insisted. "This way, later, we can start a rumor that I abuse you. We'll even have the x-rays to make it all 'suspicious'. There's already a score of rumors going around and I'm feeling you up, despite your condition. I got a lecture earlier from Nurse Brenda about allowing you to heal and recuperate first."

Chase snorted in amusement. "Yes, I'm sure that the abuse rumor already makes the rounds as it is. But I would have loved to hear her lecturing you on not molesting me till I'm healed. What did you tell her?"

"I told her that I wasn't doing anything you didn't want me to. And then I left it at that." House chuckled. "Now, I have a question. Chase? Why DO I have a teddy bear in my office?" House asked, raising his brows and tilting his head to the side.

"I... have no real idea who put it there. But I suspect RJ either did it, or suggested it to someone. I told him you like teddy bears." Chase explained, smiling at House brightly. "I also told him you are secretly nice."

"You..." House seemed to be at a loss for what to say and ended up clenching his eyes closed before opening them wide. "To what purpose?"

"Random rumor." Chase just shrugged one shoulder and smiled. "Plays into the other rumors. What the hell did you tell RJ about me? He wanted to ask, acted embarrassed, and then decided it wasn't really any of his business."

"I told him that to make you feel better and happy, I wear mouse ears around the apartment." House dutifully reported, before adding. "And a tail."

Chase raised his brows and gave him an incredulous look. "You told him..." He looked off to the side with his eyes wide. But then his lips twitched and he tried not to laugh. If he laughed too hard, it would hurt. "That's... that's a good one. That's pretty... pretty um... I have no words for what it is. But that's... good job!"

"I have a teddy bear in my office, Chase. It's purple!" House replied, letting him know in his own way that as far as House was concerned, Chase's rumor du jour was somehow worse to his reputation.

"When I'm healed enough, to actually get up and walk around? I'm going to buy you mouse ears, and leave them in your office." Chase pronounced carefully, watching House for his reaction.

"Mmm... if you're in a hurry, I can just run out and buy some tonight." House offered with a small smile. "Bring them in and lay them on the dresser over there. Since they will be too far away for you to have actually reached them... it'll be obvious they weren't for you to wear."

"Ah, I should warn you? You're going to get a bunch of plates with teddy bears on them." Chase warned, suddenly remembering. He chuckled low in his throat.

House narrowed his eyes at him. Grimaced and then shuddered. "Well, as long as they are free. I can use more plates, I suppose. And it'll totally be worth it to see Wilson's face. Now... about Cameron? Did you really do what I think you did?"

"Turner needed smited." Chase told him. "I smote him. Between what he did this morning, and him calling your family? I saw an opportunity, and I took it. He doesn't stand a chance. She will destroyyyyyy him."

"He might hurt Cameron in the process." House wouldn't admit to being worried, but there was a faint look on his face of concern. Chase found you just had to know how to look.

"She'll be fine. You know why? Bannon, wants to stay here. She LIKES it here." Chase smiled slightly. "She was even giving tips for how to handle Turner. Which I passed on to Cameron."

"She likes it here." House repeated, smiling slowly. "She's a wild card in the deck. But I think you're right. She would play her hand in our favor, if she likes it here."

"How do you know her?" Chase finally asked, because it had been bugging him. Again that little bit of irrational jealousy.

"Nothing out of the ordinary. Just met her a few times over the years. Family events. Conventions." House rummaged around and found the remote that was attached to the bed and flicked on the television.

"He's taken her to family events?" Chase asked in surprise.

"Ah..." House made a face and squinted over at Chase. "Not... really. Eve brought her. They always tried to come together because Eve was uncomfortable with the rest of us. Didn't really want to deal with some of the members. Eileen made a good shield. They were very close friends. Before you ask? No. They aren't involved, nor do either of them have a secret pining love for one another. All things considered, I'd have to say they are more like family to one another. Sister and brother. It isn't sexual or romantic." House shuddered and made a face as though he was going to vomit at the idea.

"I think Cameron can handle herself." Chase said thoughtfully. "She's a lot stronger than most people think."

"Well, worst comes to worst? She's bigger than he is. She could totally take him in a fight!" House took a deep breath and then smiled. "We could sell tickets! Actually..." He blinked. "I don't think I've ever personally seen Tommy deal with a woman that was overly assertive, with the exception of maybe Eve and Eileen. This should be interesting."

"What about Cuddy?" Chase asked.

"They've not really had to butt heads too hard as yet. No idea." House shook his head. "But that should be interesting when and if it happens.

"Eve was assertive then? I was imagining that she was a bit on the meek sensitive side. Quiet?" Chase asked. He then realized that they really were gossiping. It was kind of, well, fun! Even if the subject matter was a bit depressing.

"Her? Meek? Oh hell no." House laughed. "She was opinionated and had a very strict view on how things should be done. Her morals were very cut and dried. There was right and wrong. That's why Eileen had to be a buffer. Because people would talk about things she felt was wrong, and she would want to argue with them but knew she couldn't. Tall strong woman. She was of all things, a Daycare provider. Had a very clear view of how children should be treated. Which was that they were priceless and should be treated as treasures. Not, everyone in my family shared the view. Being of the 'seen and not heard' variety. But she had this... weird... habit of holding on to Tommy's arm till she cut the blood off to his arm. Just a really strong grip on him. He used to have to ask to have his arm and hand back and then spent a few minutes trying to regain the circulation. I suspect it was so she didn't strangle people at the reunion."

Chase made a soft sound.

"Anyway, enough about, Yo-yo. Tired of the subject." House announced. "What I want to know is, are you officially staying with me then?" He asked.

Chase hesitated only a moment before nodding. "As long as you don't start to resent it. As you said, this is a very long term rehabilitation and treatment. I don't want you to start to hate me. Especially for being underfoot."

"Hey, if I was going to resent it? I wouldn't have suggested it." House scoffed, shaking his head. "Stay."

Chase looked over at him and then very carefully nodded his head. There were a lot of things he wanted to ask, but knew he couldn't. Was Turner right? Do you care about me? How do you care about me? As a friend? As an adopted family member? As something more? What do you look to get out of this? WHY do you care, if you do?

Well, actually, he knew that House cared. It was obvious by now. It was the 'how/why' part of it that was still throwing him. But he'd learned a few things since meeting House. One, was that he didn't like to talk about his feelings. Two, if you tried to make him? He would run the other way, deny all feeling, and then reject whatever it was in the first place. Three? You had to be patient and sometimes... either wait him out, or find out by alternate means. In other words? He was like Chase in that regard. The fact was that Chase would react the same way if someone pressed HIM!

Chase decided that his plan of action was to play it by ear. Figure it out as he went. He wasn't even sure of his own feelings at the moment. He knew he'd always respected House. That he liked him once, and now liked him again now that he understood what had gone on in the background. He also knew that it was a huge show of trust for House to reveal the true reasons for the brain cancer scam. He knew he couldn't betray that trust either. It was seldom that anyone got a second chance with House when it came to trust. Which meant that his trust had been broken too many times before. He also knew, deep down, that it would be easy to love him. He was just scared to allow himself to, and then be disappointed. It was better to wait, and see, and figure it out before he allowed himself to even entertain the idea.

After all, it could just as well be that House truly was lonely, and just wanted a friend for companionship.

If that was what House needed? Then so be it. Chase would be his friend, only.

Still, there was that tiny little flicker of 'something' that was starting to feel jealous at times. That tiny little flicker of 'something' that sat in the corner of his mind and was watching House from afar, and hoped. Hoped for something more.

Chase told himself to stop thinking about it. Instead, he nodded again. "I'm staying with you." He told House aloud. "Is... General Hospital on?" He asked tentatively.

House smiled and flicked it to the right channel.

Taking a deep breath, Chase turned to watch it. He had a suspicion it wouldn't be the last time, either, as he relaxed into the medication and the comfort of House and the low murmur of television voices.

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	53. Chapter 53

The door opened a small amount, and for a moment Chase thought it was going to be RJ. But the head that peeked around, was not the male nurse. Not at all. For a second he thought it was just someone that had gone to the wrong room, but then he recognized her.

"Greg? The nurses said you were in this room visiting a patient. But they also said you'd likely be here all day. And... well... your father's getting a bit impatient so I asked if it would hurt the patient if I... oh... oh..." She stepped all the way in, seeing who was on the bed. "I'm sorry. They told me my son was here. You... look familiar..."

"I used to work for your son." He told her, keeping his voice quiet. Not that he really felt that much up to yelling regardless. He was a bit wiped out. "He went to finish looking at some of my biopsy results. I'm Dr. Robert Chase."

"Oh!" She looked surprised. "I'm... sorry. I just... to be honest. I figured he'd be in here..." She looked around a bit uncomfortable reluctant to finish her sentence.

"In here by himself watching television?" He finished with a small smile, using his good hand to raise the head of the bed a little more.

"Well, not that I know about that kind of thing first hand. But one of the nurses had said as such a few minutes ago." She stepped a bit closer. "So, he's... really working on a case then? Not just avoiding us? His father is getting very impatient, and I was hoping to talk to Greg."

"I'm sorry." Chase said honestly. "But yes, he is working on a case. Unfortunately, it happens to be mine." He wasn't exactly sure what to say to her. He didn't have the heart to say 'yes he's avoiding you two'. It wasn't his place anyway.

"Poor dear, you look like you've been in a car wreck." She came to the side of his bed and was looking him over. "But I doubt Greg would be working on you, if that was the case. Too cut and dried for him."

He offered her a faint smile and said. "Actually, it started as a fall. He's... a friend. He was helping me out, particularly after I had surgery and rods put into my back to fix where I'd broken my back. But then, I developed a lot of other problems, and come to find out? I'm actually... sick. He's been working on the case so I can stop breaking random bones, and get my heart problems under control."

Her eyes had widened as he spoke. Slowly she shook her head. "Greg's never had a lot of friends. Here and there, as he grew up. But never a lot. We moved far too often for that. So I'm always so pleased when I hear that he's made one. But it must be very hard, trying to separate friend from patient."

Chase heard the worry in her voice, and then remembered why she was worried. He sighed and nodded. "It hasn't been easy for him, no. But he's been getting help, because as you said. It is hard to be objective when the patient is a friend. So the others have been a big help on that."

"How is he taking it?" She asked, giving him a careful look. "I mean..."

Ahhhh, she was pumping him for information on her son's mental state! Sneaky woman.

"He's been very strong. I don't know what I would have done without him through all of this. Him and Turner keep butting heads though. Likes to make trouble for House. Unfortunately, he's my cardiologist, due to my heart condition." He wasn't sure if that was helpful or not. She had just given him a small smile, but didn't seem to take it too seriously. Of course, if those two have been fighting since childhood, it was possible that it was just taken as natural at this point.

Her eyes widened once more as she pointed weakly at his face. "Oh... oh dear..."

Chase felt it a second later. The drip from his nose. He grimaced, grabbing for the tissues on the small lap table nearby. Pulling out several, he used them to hold his nose. "It'll stop." He assured her through a nasal voice as he pinched his nose. The white board was still up, and he pointed behind her to it. "First symptom listed..."

She covered her mouth as she looked at the board, her eyes once more wide. "Oh, you poor dear. You've had a heart attack? You're so young!"

Chase nodded. "Among other things." He spoke normally, as he checked to see if the blood flow was reduced. He twisted some tissue and stuck it up his nostril to block it up. That way he had his hands free.

"Do you know when my son might be back?" She asked, still using the comforting tone that some of the older nurses tended to use on him. But she had a hand to her face as she glanced from the white board back to him. "Maybe he should be here, I mean... you're bleeding!"

He picked at the bandage on his hand and shook his head. "It'll stop again, I'll be fine. They took a biopsy of my bowels, and they are trying to confirm that I do not have cancer. It might be awhile. They took a biopsy of my bones, and broke my hip on accident because everything is just... too soft."

He wasn't telling her that they had already diagnosed him. No need to tell her that. Let her think he's still working on the case, and just too busy to talk to them.

"I suppose we should have called first. But I'm just so worried about him. We rarely talk, or visit." She said looking away and towards the window. Then back to him. "Do you ever call your mother?" She asked with a small smile.

Blinking for a moment, he wondered where that question came from! But then he realized she was just probably wanting to compare experiences. Maybe try to see if her son was indeed trying to avoid talking to her and his father, or if it was just one of those things adult children did.

Shaking his head, he looked down. "My parents have already passed away. My mother when I was still in school. My father a little while back. But before he passed away, no, I rarely called or talked to him. Nor, did I wish to. I resented him, did not like him too much. And I think he felt the same in return. I was virtually written out of his will. All I received from his estate were sentimental items or items that had once belonged to me anyway. It is safe to say, we did not get along. He divorced my mother when I was still rather young."

Surprised, she put her hands on the railing of his bed. "Why did you resent your father?"

He wondered if she hoped that by telling his tale, she could figure out something with her own family. Unfortunately, the story did not apply. "My father divorced my mother, leaving me with her care. She was an alcoholic. I had to take care of her, instead of her taking care of me. He was too busy with his new life, to worry about his old one. He remarried, got a new family... and..." He shook his head.

The disappointment in her eyes was visible as she once more turned away. No, the story didn't quite apply to her life. The only similarity was that Chase had avoided his father.

"House loves you." Chase finally blurted out. "He's said that, in as many words. He loves you. And he guards his heart tighter than Fort Knox. So, that means something, ma'am. I know right now is a difficult time, but... hold that in YOUR heart, that he loves you."

She smiled and then gently reached out and touched his unbandaged hand. "You're a good boy, your father... was..." She shook her head, probably unsure of the appropriate thing to say. Instead, she repeated. "You're a good boy. I'm glad my son has a new friend in you."

Sighing, she stood up straighter and said. "I better be getting back before John blows a gasket. We'll just go to a hotel for tonight. Since it's obvious Greg is going to be busy for now. I should have called first. I hope you get to feeling better..."

"Robert." He supplied when she seemed to be grasping for what would be appropriate to call him. "You may call me Robert."

"You may call me Blythe." She smiled. "I hope you get to feeling better, Robert. I'll leave you to your rest."

She took a deep sighing breath as she made her way out of the room. Chase scratched his chin and then the side of his nose as he tried to figure out how he should feel about the encounter. It had been awkward, and felt like walking a tightrope. Not wanting to lie, and yet still not wishing to give House up.

He didn't know the full story there. Didn't know why House didn't like his father. But, just as Chase had his reasons for disliking Rowan, and yet Chase had still also cared in the end, he knew House had to have his own reasons. He didn't dare try to apply any reasons to House's situation. He simply didn't have enough information.

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	54. Chapter 54

Interlude 9

Eileen stepped into their office and paused as she saw Thomas. His chin was resting on his crossed arms as they lay on top of his desk. He was staring intensely at a plate in front of him. She slowly approached with caution and raised a brow. "Tom?"

"Hm." He made a small noise, his gaze never wavering from the plate.

"What are those?" She asked quietly, though she knew very well what they were. She just wanted to know what he was thinking. He was obviously in one of those strange moods where she could not quite tell what was going on in his head. Over the years, she'd learned to read the tiny signs. A look. A sound. Something. This time? He was staring at a plate. Even for him, that tended not to make much sense.

"I think... they are cookies." He said in a suspicious tone, his eyes narrowed as he continued to contemplate the small pile on the plate in front of him. It was as though he were waiting for them to jump up and attack him.

"Yes, I can see that." She finally nodded again slowly, taking the seat across from him and also watched the cookies. She wasn't sure what they were supposed to do, or rather, what they represented.

"Then why did you ask?" He sniped. There it was. The irritation that announced to the world that everyone was idiots, except him. Thus all was truly right with the world. He'd not gone completely round the bend yet. He was just at the corner looking both ways... Though there were some days she thought he'd went ahead and run over the line between madness and sanity without a look backward.

"Because, I'm wondering why you have a plate of cookies." She told him, giving him a trace of a curious look. She pursed her lips and peered down at the cookies. "You don't usually indulge in such. So, I was wondering why you have them now!"

"I don't know." He answered, glaring at the cookies now. His mouth was in a thin grim line, and he wrinkled his nose. She almost asked if the cookies had insulted him.

"You don't know." She repeated carefully. "Did you buy the cookies?" She asked, trying a new line of questioning. He was obviously treating the question of their existence like one would the question of their own existence in the world. So, now, she would just try to place their original origin.

"No." He answered, quick and to the point. He extended one finger and touched the edge of the plate before jerking it back. As though it might explode with pressure. She raised her both brows high. Huh, maybe she should rethink that thought about him not having gone around the bend. Because, it was starting to look like he was at the very least peeking around the corner!

"Diiiid you..." Eileen wrinkled her brows and squinted at the plate, at a loss for how to phrase the next question. That was the key with Thomas. One must ask the questions correctly, to get the right answer. "Where did they come from? How did they come to be on your desk?"

"No. Idea." He sneered, this time reaching out and gently touching one of the cookies before pulling back. He felt his fingertip with his thumb, and seemed to be analyzing it. "They just showed up, while I was out of the office."

"Randomly, appearing cookies." She said slowly, clicking her tongue. "Hm... that... that doesn't happen often. Just, appearing like that." Eileen admitted, slowly nodding as though this was a wise observation. "Are you going to eat them?" She asked, tilting her head and raising her brows again. "It is what people traditionally do with cookies. At least, in my experience."

"Probably poisoned." He grimaced, still glaring and wrinkling his nose at them.. "Not rigged to explode... so they are probably poisoned. Wouldn't put it past Greg to dose them with something."

She rolled her eyes and reached out to take a cookie. "Keep watch. If I start to die, save me. Otherwise you have to do all the paperwork around here by yourself. And we know how you hate to do paperwork. Not to mention actually talking to patients! Can't have that, if we can help it!"

Thomas looked vaguely horrified by the notion and then gave a sharp nod. He was watching her intently as she took a bite and chewed it thoughtfully. His eyes glittered with his concentration. Making sure to note her skin, eyes, and even her breathing.

"Oatmeal raisin. Soft. Chewy. Moist. Yet firm! I detect nothing out of the ordinary as yet." She informed him between bites. "Nothing stinging. Nothing salty. Nothing sour. Not overly sweet." She continued her report as she finished the cookie. She leaned back in her chair and waited, tapping her fingers against the chair as she did so.

Thomas watched his wrist watch and checked on her every few minutes. She took her pulse, and finally announced. "I think they are legit. I feel no ill effects. I also don't feel high or dosed with anything. I do on the other hand feel like having another cookie." She reached out for another one only to have Thomas pull it to himself, and he put a protective arm around the plate.

"It was on my desk. My cookies." He told her, gingerly reaching for one and biting into it carefully. Not complete trust, but at least taking the chance.

She snorted and then reached over regardless snatching two off the plate. "You're such a brat." She told him going across the room to work at her own desk in the far corner. She sat down and chuckled to herself, amused by his caution and paranoia. Sometimes, it was fun to work with a slightly crazy sociopath.

From the hall, watching in equal amounts of confusion and amusement, Cameron watched through the glass walls and doors. She had a file in her hand, and leaned against the wall pretending to read it the entire time Turner had been inspecting the plate and then while Eileen had tested it. She was shocked how seriously they took it all. But then, she smiled as he began to eat the cookies and tried to keep Eileen from having any more. With a small chuckle, she closed the file, and started back to work. Smiling. 


	55. Chapter 55

House was shuffling backwards into the room, before shutting the door quickly. He stood there for a moment, staring at the wooden door, though it didn't appear anyone had followed him. Chase smiled slightly at the sight of the man sneaking around and cleared his throat. "Are you hiding from Cuddy, or your parents?" He asked.

Chase found that as long as he did not move more than a few inches at a time... nothing hurt. He wasn't overly drugged. He could stay awake. And if he just stayed still, he was fine. It was the staying still part that was the hardest, of course. House turned to look at him with an unreadable look.

Chase couldn't help but offer the information he had. It felt necessary to do so. "Your mother was here, looking for you. But I indicated that you were still researching my case, and had not yet solved it. It helped that I had a nosebleed at the time. She and your dad are going to a hotel for the night and will probably try again tomorrow. She admits she should have called first, but she loves you."

"I know she loves me." House said, almost grumbling as he made his way to his chair and sat down. "That's not the problem."

"It's your dad, that is the problem." Chase did not ask. He merely stated. "He didn't come in with her. It was just her."

"Figured as much." House commented as he made himself comfortable before grabbing the remote from where it was hanging on the bed.

"I... she asked me about my parents." He said, wincing slightly as he did so. Though it may have been any number of things that caused him to wince such as the physical pains he was prone to at the moment. The wince was brought about due to the conversation he'd had with House's mother.

"Did you tell her it wasn't any of her business?" House asked, tapping his finger against the remote, not looking at Chase.

"I considered it, for about a split second. Because, technically, it isn't any of anyone's business. And then, I realized... it wasn't about me. And there was no... it wasn't about ME. She... It wasn't that she wanted to pry into my business to satisfy some... need to dig into my past. It was that she was looking for something deeper in it, to... to compare to her own situation. She was trying to find answers to questions she can't seem to ask you yet. She doesn't want a confrontation, on that score with you, because she's scared of the answer. Scared you will tell her, that it is her fault." Chase said thoughtfully. "So she's looking into other people's situations, and like someone looking at a pattern in a tea cup... trying to find the answers by the coincidences of... of... circumstance. If person A did this, then maybe person B did that for the same reason..."

House remained silent.

Chase continued after a few minutes. "If I hadn't spoken to her though... I don't know. I didn't think it would help, honestly? I still believe there is no right answer. There is also no wrong answer. There are NO answers, when one comes down to it. But I figured some of her questions would be answered such as... can you divine the answers from someone else. It put the line of questioning to rest, at least. She probably won't ask anyone else now. Now she has to look inside herself, for answers. Or ask the correct people for them."

"Like, asking if anything bad had ever happened to someone else, just because it happened to you." House finally spoke. "One room. One day. Two people. Her husband and son don't get along. And she wanted to know... if it happened elsewhere and why. She wants absolution. She was hoping you could give it to her."

Chase nodded slowly and carefully. "I can't do that. Not for her. Not for me. Not for anyone."

House rubbed his face and then nodded as well. "You can't find absolution, until you realize you were wrong in the first place. Nor can you find it, if you weren't at fault to begin with. There's a right answer here, but she has to ask the right question, to the right person, at the right time. Until she does that? She'll find no answers worth considering. Anyway..." He looked away and Chase could sense he was going to make the subject change before he did it. "Cuddy isn't looking for me at the moment. Tomorrow? That will be another story, but for today. I'm safe."

"What time is it, anyway?" Chase asked, no longer sure. The curtains were drawn, and the lights all on. It was easy to lose track if you didn't look outside.

"Nighttime?" House looked at his watch and frowned. "About eight pm? Wow, this day went by pretty fast." He dropped his hand back in his lap and flicked through the channels till he found some wrestling to watch.

Chase looked over at him, being careful how he turned his head as he did so. "House? You really need some sleep. I've at least fallen prey to catnaps and the occasional drug induced sleep today. You've not rested since the middle of the night, and haven't been sleeping well. You deserve some sleep." He was trying to make it sound like the sleep was a reward for all he'd done.

House just frowned and watched the television. He was going to be stubborn tonight. Well, fine. Chase could on occasion be stubborn as well. Wilson would show up eventually, even if he did feel guilty for breaking Chase's leg. And when it came to trying to get House to do something, Wilson was usually the best one to conspire with.

"You, are sitting unnaturally still." House finally commented, never taking his eyes off the television. "Have you hit the limit on the pump?" He asked. It had been brought in sometime during the day, while Chase had dozed. It wasn't morphine, but something that was still in the category of 'good stuff'.

Chase considered his answer carefully. "Uh... no. I just don't want to use it right now. I want to be awake for a bit. It makes me sleepy." He purposely gave an explanation, knowing that the first accusation that would cross his mind would be 'what you don't want to really become an addict?' Or rather, maybe not accusation, but that elusive concern he showed yet didn't show at the same time.

"You should sleep." House told him."You need the rest to recover."

"Dr. Kettle? Dr. Pot is returning your phone call." Chase smiled slightly. "You need sleep too."

"The difference is, I can't sleep. You can. You are choosing not to." House pointed out. "If I could sleep, I would. You're allowing yourself to be in discomfort, for some reason. To stay awake as you say."

"I sleep most the time these days. I'd like to be awake for a bit." Chase hedged.

"You're afraid to go to sleep." House accused, keeping his voice level and in the exact same tone he'd kept the entire conversation thus far. "Is it because of the way you woke up in the middle of the night? You're hooked up to heart monitors. If anything happens, they will know in an instant."

"Logically, I know that." Chase mumbled it.

"But emotionally, you're afraid." House shifted on his chair and stretched his leg out in front of him. Clearly he was uncomfortable, but too stubborn. Par for the course, really.

Chase pressed his lips together, trying to find an argument or something to say to that. He decided to go on the offense. "You, don't want to go home alone, do you? Is it because your parents may show up there?"

House didn't answer, instead he turned stations and poured all his concentration on what was on the screen.

"Thought so." Chase sighed, trying to ignore the pain that was slowly building in his thigh area. Since it was the newest in the line of injuries, it was the loudest! He would have to push the button before too much more time had passed. It was a given. But he still didn't want to sleep. He also didn't want to go to sleep knowing that House was still awake, in pain, and uncomfortable. The man was miserable, it was obvious.

Was there anything he could really do about it? About House and his aversion to visiting his parents? Or rather, his father? Not really. Could he do anything about House and at least having the opportunity of sleeping? Maybe.

He knew that in the past, there had been times when they would bring in a small cot or bed for the parents of children sick in the hospital. This was a private room, so it was rather large. Though he had to ask himself, why here? Why not. He countered, reminding himself that he wasn't yet ready to analyze all the reasons he might have for wanting House close at hand. Other than, he was a damn good doctor who would and has kept him alive thus far.

"Would you hand me the phone?" He asked House, holding out his good hand slowly.

House narrowed his eyes and then gave him a considering look. "No. Whatever you're planning, I'm not aiding and abetting because you're plotting. I can tell. You're probably plotting against ME. Plotting against others? I can get behind, and even cheer on. Plotting against ME? No."

The older man crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Chase. "I'm not plotting AGAINST you." Chase assured. It was more like he was plotting 'for' House. But the older man stubbornly shook his head 'no'.

"Fine, stubborn git." He muttered under his breath. He pressed the pain meds button, because going to sleep in a bit versus not accomplishing his goal was no contest. House needed sleep, or he was going to get sick himself. He reached out as far as he could with his good hand and finally snagged the cord, dragging the phone to him.

House watched him closely, but didn't stop him. He wouldn't help him, apparently, but he was obviously curious. Wanting to see what Chase was up to. Chase concentrated as hard as he could, blinking past the drugged fog that was trying to descend over him.

"Hello?" The voice on the other end questioned cautiously.

"Iz Chase." He cleared his throat and tried again. "It's Chase." He repeated. "I need... a nice bed for Howze in my room. He needssss sleep." He popped the p on the word and cleared his throat again, nearly dozing off for a second. "Cuz he's not going home. He iz gonna take care of me."

Well, not quite the words he wanted to say, but those were the ones escaping from his rather drugged up mouth. "So I need to take care of hem. Iz only fair. So need a bed, so he'll sleeeeep."

There was a chuckle on the other end of the phone as Wilson realized what was going on. "Okay. I think I understand what's going on. I'll make the arrangements and have someone put a second bed in there. You? You just go to sleep yourself."

Chase was nodding off, and having trouble maintaining the conversation as House had finally stood and took the phone. He heard House say. "Hello? Wilson. Figured that it was you he called. Yes, well..." The other man sighed and then said. "I suppose. He's... falling to sleep..."

There were other words, but Chase couldn't make out what they were as he drifted off. The fire in his leg was quenched for now. The aches and pains that ran riot in his body also became silent. And the steady breathing of House nearby, was as good as a lullabye on the rare occasions he surfaced back to wakefulness in the night.

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	56. Chapter 56

The other bed was empty and looked to be fresh made. The sheets were changed and the blanket perfectly spread. Ready for a new patient, should one need such. House was nowhere to be seen. After a moment of thought, he knew why that was. Not only did the man have to work, but last night's conversation was just too close for either man. Of course, Chase had the luxury of good drugs that can smooth the rough edges. House, on the other hand, did not.

Speaking of which, why wasn't he nicely stoned? Damn. Now he was forced to think and vaguely remember the last twenty four hours or so. Ugh.

Space was needed for both of them right now. Definitely!

Looking back over the last twenty four hours with benefit to clearer thoughts, he found himself wanting to... what? He wasn't sure. It was so strange being laid bare to someone else. Anyone else. It was literally like being naked. He was exposed, and it was... he felt raw. He had a feeling though, that House felt much the same way. They were both private men. Since they had been here, dealing with this situation, they had seen each other in a more 'complete' way. They're lives had been... meshed. Times like this, he felt more 'involved' with House than he had with Cameron. And he'd not even had sex with House! There was a thought that was... No. He really should NOT think about THAT! That way lay madness surely. Best not to let one's mind run wild with impossibilities!

Part of him wished to back up, turn back time, and do things differently. Part of him was aware it was just panic from having revealed so much of himself. He carefully wiped a hand down his face. He'd done the right thing though, hadn't he? With Blythe? The woman was lost. It was obvious to her, that her son avoided them. It had to hurt. She wanted to understand. But how much was her own denial? House loved his mother. So that had to mean something too, didn't it? House wouldn't want his mother in pain? Therefore, as a friend, wasn't he... shouldn't he... try to help? Even if it was such a confession? One moment in time,to at least put a few questions to rest? Unfortunately, it wasn't the questions she needed answered. They were the answers he could not provide.

Whatever it was that House didn't like about his dad, she had to have been there during it. It was of course possible, whatever it was, was hidden from her. But... Chase was scared to know the answer to this particular puzzle. It was private. He had a 'trust' to keep. He couldn't betray that one.

But that still didn't make his stomach feel any better, nor did it get rid of his headache. He had a headache? Damn it, that meant they had lowered his meds. He tried the pump, but it gave nothing up. He grumbled and evaluated his pain level. It was about a five. He could deal, he supposed.

When the door opened after a brief knock, he laid bets with himself that it would be RJ or Wilson.

It was neither.

"Foreman?" Chase was almost surprised, though he supposed he should have figured that Foreman would be there eventually.

"Finally awake, I see. Or rather, at least awake while I'm here!" He amended. "Did you forget I'm also one of your doctors? Or were you just trying to forget?"

"Little from column A, a bit from column B..." Chase half-joked. "Mostly, it's from column C which is 'drugged to the gills'. They've lowered the amount, apparently. Cruel bastards."

"Yes, I hear they have you on some of the good stuff. Broke a hip. You sure you don't want to be transferred to geriatrics? Give those old women up there something to get their heart rates up!" Foreman grinned at him.

"Oh, god no." Chase said horrified. "They have pinchy fingers! Good thing I'd be seated, but I still don't want to take the risk! They'll chase me in their wheelchairs, and the ones in the walkers might have an unfair advantage!"

The other man cackled as he shook his head. Some of the geriatric patients tended to get a bit bored, and would act up or out. Pinching nurses butts, or flashing them. Giving people an eyeful or outrageously flirting. It was just entertainment to them, since it wasn't as though they had much going on anymore in their lives. Sometimes it was funny. Sometimes it was annoying. It appeared that Chase was more than familiar with the grannies that liked to grope the young cute doctors who have a rotation up there once in a while!

"Sooooo, what are your plans for when you get out of here?" He asked, raising his brow. "Just curious because, according to your Ortho doctor, you're looking at about six months at least. For a full recovery. Maybe longer? Annnnnd just why IS your Ortho doctor scared of House?"

"Because he's... easily frightened by cane wielding maniacs with a pronounced limp and a big mouth?" Chase tried his best to look innocent. "And, you have access to my records in the computer, right? It has my address there."

Foreman was reading out of the file, looking over all the notes that had thus far been passed between Neurology, Cardiology, Ortho, and Rehabilitation. "Well, last I looked, you were staying with House." Foreman ventured, looking at him after a second, and then back down at the file.

"Still am." Chase busied himself with the volume control on the television. "Does it really matter? Don't really see how it is important, or that it is anyone's business."

"Well, no. Not really. And it isn't. Just that the rumors running around are starting to run all in the same direction." Foreman commented. "And, it would affect your Physical Therapy, therefore your neurological... you're staying with HOUSE? Are you INSANE?"

Chase laughed, leaning back into the pillow, closing his eyes. "Wow, you lasted longer than I thought you would."

"I was doing good there for a moment. But seriously, are you insane? Can I list this as a neuro symptom?" Foreman asked. "I think this would qualify!"

"I was staying with him before." Chase pointed out, still laughing at Foreman.

"Yeah, but... still?" Foreman shook his head. "You're either a saint in the making, like Wilson. Or completely wacko... like Wilson."

Chase laughed again, shaking his head slowly. "Are you here for a real reason? Or are you just trying to get down to the good gossip."

"Little from column A. Little from column B." Foreman repeated what Chase had said earlier. "Any headaches? Seriously, did he really hold your hand?"

"No headaches. None of your business." Chase reported in order. Then he realized, he had just lied. It was an automatic lie and he sighed to himself. He hadn't even thought about it when he said it. "Slight headache."

Foreman gave him a level look that said it all really, but he still said it aloud after a second. "Everybody lies. But, you really need to stop proving it!"

Chase pressed his lips together and grimaced. "It was... Trying."

"Any pain which you would categorize as nerve pain. Are you two an item?" Foreman asked.

"Sciatic, but it is not as painful as the... oh... broken bones at the moment? Annnnd what do you think?" Chase asked in return, flipping to the preview/TV guide channel to see what was playing.

"I think... we'll run some more tests when some of these bones are fused together better. And I think you're a masochist if you two are together. Not that I really care. Just an observation." Foreman shook his head. "I was just curious. Trying to decide if I need to do some kind of brain scan on you. Figure it is a symptom. Just can't figure out if it is a symptom of a neuro problem, or if I should just call down Psych!"

Chase chuckled and scratched the side of his jaw, refusing to truly engage in the discussion. "What are the PT's recommendations so far?"

Foreman shook his head. "I think she's wanting to wait a few weeks before trying to do anything with you again. Give the Calcium and the Vitamin D a chance to get in there and toughen you up a bit while your bones fuse. Mostly, for now, she's recommending that they move your good leg, turn you, make you do things like move your arms around. Get you sitting up. Easy stuff. But you're going to have to talk to her directly, I think. There's still the others we have to coordinate with. Including... you're going to have a Nutritionist-Dietician."

Chase let his head fall back and groaned. "Nuuuuu..." He closed his eyes. "Ortho, Cardio, Neuro, PT, and now a Nutritionist." He rubbed his forehead with his unbandaged hand. "Even with the insurance this is going to cost an arm and a... leg." He gestured at his broken hip area.

"Well, I'm sure that Cuddy will help you with Billing." Foreman said awkwardly, doing the odd sideways shuffle toward the door that screamed 'get me out of here'.

Chase could see he was looking for a way of getting the hell out of there. Like he was trapped! Trapped with someone that might need reassurance. Foreman wasn't good at this part of the process. He also didn't like to be reminded that Chase wasn't as rich as he'd assumed in the beginning. The rich boy, wasn't really 'rich'. And thus destroyed all his illusions that Chase hadn't earned or appreciated his position.

Chase took pity on him, this time. "Yes, I'm sure." Though there was only so much they could really do. "You should go ahead and go see the other patients. Soap operas are coming on soon. I don't want to miss them! You miss something and you know how that is!"

Foreman narrowed his eyes and looked at him carefully. Chase smirked at him in return, causing Foreman to shake his head and roll his eyes before heading on out. "Insane." He muttered.

He watched him go and rolled his eyes as well before he shook his head. Foreman always took him by surprise. Sometimes, he seemed to care. Sometimes, he out right told him he didn't like him. Chase figured, in reality? Foreman didn't know himself how he felt. He was as emotionally constipated as the rest of them! He'd told them a while back that he'd been written out of the will. But sometimes, it just seemed like Foreman didn't really 'get' it. That Chase had actually worked for his position instead of actually being given such as was originally indicated. He'd still studied, and worked hard. Still did so.

Chase found himself bored within minutes of Foreman's departure, and looked up at the television. It was depressingly free of anything actually interesting to watch and after a moment, he really did turn over to soap operas. It was at least background noise! A distraction from the ache in his back and the sting in his leg. He wiped his eyes and looked down at the remote with the large button that said NURSE in big red letters on it. On the bed, there was another button on the railing that had a picture of a nurse's head. Though, none he knew had worn a hat like that in years. He thought about asking for something additional. He didn't like pain.

They had lowered his pain meds since last night, as he had already noted. Probably, because he was starting to 'startle'. When RJ came in at one point, he'd been dozing and when he became aware, he ended up jolting. And that wasn't any good either. So he kept as still as possible allowing himself to stay in a decent pain range. He could of course call for a pain med if he was feeling worse. He knew that! Knew it! But yet, he wanted to stay in a state of awareness as he watched the soap operas one by one. That slight fear of going to sleep and never waking up again was still nagging at him. Not to mention? He was honestly tired of sleeping and he found himself trying to figure out what was going on in the different television shows.

Of course, it was hard to keep track since it was his first time, but... it was vaguely interesting. Eventually, he did push the pain button, and it worked. But he found himself only drifting into a nice haze. The absence of pain was blissful and he chided himself for not having done something before then. He let himself drift in and out.

"I bet this is how House got addicted." He muttered to himself in his slightly stoned state, squinting as one character tried to convince another to take her back despite their infidelity. House had probably spent a lot of time in a hospital bed, with nothing other to do than watch television. The end result? Soap opera addiction!

Because no one could deny his addictions didn't run to daytime and nighttime drama. It did. He frowned at one of the characters and then laughed as he realized, he was really watching this! As it left off without really 'finishing' anything, he also realized he was probably going to be watching this tomorrow as well!

The news was on next, but that wasn't as much fun, so he flipped to cartoons. "How the hell does a squirrel live underwater anyhow? And how are they lighting a fire?" He realized he was over-analyzing it, but... "How did the pineapple get under there anyway?"

Still, he watched it. The stronger drugs would have made this so much better. But he was resisting the temptation to be dosed once again. Nope, he could hold out, a bit longer. Time was crawling by though. Minute by minute... would this day never end?

Rugrats. He'd seen it before as well. He groaned to himself. He was so bored. So very very bored. He didn't realize the times he slipped in and out of a doze or daze, it was just all one 'moment' as far as he was concerned. He didn't even realize when nurses came in and out. When Wilson slipped in and checked on him. He never noticed.

He flipped through and found himself watching some Judge try to sort out some story about someone owing money on a car to someone else.

Chase thought about strangling himself with the remote's cord. No, that would solve nothing. He could call a nurse, but that... wasn't what you should do just because you're bored. Though, he'd heard nurses complaining about being summoned out of boredom before. No. He'd not do that.

Where was House?

He'd been trying to avoid that question all day. He didn't want to ask it. He didn't want to want to. But it had preyed on his mind at the edge of thought all day. He wanted... No. He was just bored. That's all.

House was probably doing clinic hours, or working on a patient. Or avoiding Chase because of all the issues that had been coming out into the light lately. After all, didn't he just think upon waking that they needed space from one another? Too emotionally raw? Fuck emotionally raw. He was bored! He needed entertainment! He needed... to stop thinking. Obviously.

He looked around for the paper, hoping to find a crossword puzzle. No luck. Not even a pen to doodle with! He sighed deeply, looking back up at the television. A baby story? If he wanted to watch babies being born, he could do it upstairs. Still, it was something to watch for a few minutes.

The television was just a dim sound in the background, almost grating eventually.

He counted the ceiling tiles, then he considered counting 'lines'. Then he looked at the curtains wishing they were at least open so he could watch... what? The sky? Argh.

He wiggled the toes of his good leg. "Someone, save me." He muttered with a sigh. Finally, when the pain hit a high enough 'number' once more, he allowed himself to push the button so he could sleep. Sleeping was at least something he could do. Fear be damned!

But he couldn't help to hope that someone would come around tonight as he dozed off. He hoped that either Wilson or House would show up. They... were not boring.

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	57. Chapter 57

Interlude 10

Wilson eventually found him on the roof of the hospital. "It's been a while since you've been up here." He observed, hands in his pockets as he carefully approached House. Wilson had stopped in to see Chase for a few minutes, but he'd been asleep. Wilson hadn't wanted to disturb him, and instead had gone on a search for House. "The last time I know of, Stacy was working here."

House gave him a slightly irritated look before turning back to watch the grounds.

Usually, the only time it was hard to find House, was if he was hiding from Cuddy. But, Cuddy had apparently been cutting House a bit of a break lately. Only demanding a few hours of his time in the Clinic before turning him loose to 'make himself busy'. Probably figuring that he'd go visit and/or annoy Chase.

Unfortunately, that had not been the case. According to the nurses, House hadn't been anywhere near the room today. The only ones that had been in his room were nurses and doctors coming to check on him. No one else. No House.

"Hm." House made the smallest noise as he looked out over the grounds. "I was just scouting out a good place to drop water balloons. I think, if I stand just here, I can drop it directly on people coming out! What do you think?"

"Ahhhh, this is going to be one of 'those' conversations." Wilson said sagely with a slight nod. "Did your mother manage to track you down today?"

House shrugged one shoulder.

Wilson rubbed his face with the palm of his hand and sighed. "You need to talk." He told House.

"No, you need me to talk, so you know what is going on." House corrected, still looking out over the grounds. "She reached me by phone. I answered it. She asked me, if I was avoiding her. I gave her a very honest 'no'. It is a truth on a technicality. I'm not avoiding HER!"

He sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly as the tension rolled away slightly. "I'm getting far too old to be dealing with this. Didn't it seem when we were kids, that by the time our parents reached this age? The older generation had died off? What's taking so damn long? I blame health-care! Damn doctors, making everyone healthy, well, and long lived!"

"That's... pretty much what all of us have been saying. You're an adult. You should be able to settle this, like... an adult!" Wilson said carefully. "So, are you going to talk to her one on one, soon? I assume that's what she wants?"

"I told her, tomorrow." He still had his back to Wilson, one of his hands in his pocket as he looked over the side of the building. "I wanted one more night before hell breaks loose."

"You're going to lay it out, aren't you?" Wilson asked still cautious. He didn't move or step closer, not wanting to make House feel trapped. Well, any more trapped than he was. "Why exactly DO you hate your dad so much?" He asked.

"Wilson. You are my best, and until recently, only friend. But I'm not going to tell you that." He said in a tone meant to end the line of questioning. "It's not up for discussion. So, how about this weather? It was cold, now it's nice. And it's supposed to be cold again... Can't make up its mind?"

Wilson let out a slow breath and eventually bobbed his head in assent. "Fine. How about this? Usually, you visit with Chase. But, not today. Why? I refuse to discuss the weather."

"He needs rest." House said in a curt manner. "Can't let him get all tired out. Besides, why should I spend all my time down there right now? He's coming home with me, isn't he? He's probably feeling stifled as it is. If we spend all our time together, it'll just kill the romance!"

Wilson raised his brows and then almost smiled. "That's what this is about. At least, with Chase. You're starting to freak out, because you realize you're not going to be alone. Not for a very long time. There is no strict time limit to adhere to now. It isn't six weeks to eight weeks. It is half a year to nearly a year. And by then? By then..." The smile turned sad. "You're starting to freak out, about stuff like, lack of privacy. Sharing. And all that other stuff that comes with having a relationship with someone. Even if it isn't a romantic one." Wilson shook his head to himself. He wasn't sure what to think about what the relationship was. But he wasn't too sure there wasn't some 'interest' there, somewhere, hiding beneath all that armor.

"I'm not freaking out." House denied. "I'm taking a moment. You know, a quiet, private moment." He turned to give Wilson a significant look. One that said, 'take the hint and leave!'

But Wilson was good at ignoring those looks. "Are you going to be able to handle it?" He asked, seriously. "Having him there, day in and day out. Depending on you? Not everyone could."

Stacy hadn't been able to.

"If I didn't think I could. I wouldn't have told him to stay." House glared over his shoulder at Wilson, before turning back to look over the grounds. "It'll be fine. I'm just up here for air."

"There's been times, you've acted on impulse, and then come to regret it." Wilson pointed out.

"I'm not regretting this, as you put it. I'm just... going to need time to myself sometimes. This is one of them. To think. To just, be alonnnnne." House told him sternly. "I'm not going to abandon him. Hell, I made some of it worse by feeding him things he shouldn't have had!"

"Not like you knew at the time. Hell, he didn't even admit when his stomach would hurt. Don't worry about it now. Just... talk to me." Wilson all but begged. "What are you thinking about?"

"You are such a girl, Wilson." House snorted, looking amused before once more turning back to look over the side of the building. "I'm sorry, but... I'm not giving you my letter jacket. I already asked Chase to the prom."

"Houuuuse." Wilson drew the word out in exasperation.

"I'm just... thinking." House stated. "Nothing important. Nothing earth shattering. Just... figuring out logistics."

"Right. Of course." Wilson obviously didn't believe a word of it. But asking him if he was trying to figure out his feelings directly would end in one of those pseudo-fights they sometimes got into. "Well, maybe I can help!"

"Good. I was just thinking that." House clapped his hands, beaming at Wilson. The change of atmosphere was almost enough to knock Wilson backward. From sullen and serious to outright playful again?

"Uhhhh, how do you mean?" Wilson squinted, feeling like now might be a good time to escape.

"Well... someone has to cook." House blinked innocently, as though Wilson should have known that himself. "No more just ordering out! And you know I'm only good at soup and peanut butter. Man does not live by soup alone! Well, he will, for a while. But that's besides the point. We need someone that knows how to use an actual mixer, measuring cup, and those... what are they called? Whisks?"

"You want..." Wilson's eyes widened and he put his hands up in surrender as he backed toward the door.

"Now, do you really want to inflict MY cooking on the boy?" House stepped forward, matching Wilson step for step, smiling. "Hasn't he been through enough pain and suffering?"

"You want me..." Wilson backed another step toward the door, looking from side to side for escape. "Every..."

"Three meals a day." House nodded. "Once he's through with the whole, liquid diet, then a soft foods diet for a while... Not to mention the whole more vitamin D and calcium thing." He continued to smile. "The nutritionist has already given me a preview of the..."

Wilson was scrambling to get the door open and was fleeing the scene.

"Knew that would get rid of him." House snorted in amusement and then went back to sit down and stare into the night.

He checked his watch, visiting hours were almost over. He'd go down to see Chase when there was no more risk of non-employees coming up to ambush him.

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	58. Chapter 58

Chase heard the squeak of metal and plastic being disturbed. Then he heard the sound of someone trying to cough, without actually coughing. It was a productive cough, and sounded as though whomever was doing it was annoyed. It was in the low grumble that screamed 'irritation'. There was some more low mumbling and grumbling and then the person settled down on the mattress on the other side of the room with a sigh of bliss.

Smiling slightly, Chase turned to look over, to speak to House when... "AH!" He gave a small jump of surprise which he immediately came to regret as his upper leg screamed at him as well as his back, hand, and ribs.

"AH!" The other person yelled a split second behind him, throwing up his hands as he did so.

"Who... wha..." Chase brought himself back under control, his heart thumping in his chest and sending the machines to beeping faster. "I..." He calmed down, and the beeping slowed to normal. The other man covered his head with a sheet as a nurse rushed in to check on Chase.

"I... I'm... fine." Chase told the nurse. "Just... startled."

She gave a quick nod and disappeared without asking what had startled him. He was vaguely annoyed by the fact that she never even wondered. You'd think they would! But turned his attention eventually to the intruder. "Hello? Are you lost?"

The man laying in the other bed pulled down the sheet and then pushed himself into a sitting position. Chase took the time to really look at him and noted the very thin silver hair. It had the slightest bit of curl to it. What was left, that was. And he had a feeling that once upon a time, it had been brown. Maybe even a light brown? It was hard to tell. But the silver wasn't the dark silver he associated with someone that once had dark hair. It was nearly 'white'.

The goatee that covered the aged man's lower face was pure white, a startling contrast to the suntanned skin. And a deeply lined face was crinkling into a smile, leaving storm-blue-gray intelligent eyes glittering at him from the small folds of flesh around them.  
Familiar eyes.

VERY familiar eyes.

The old man, still smiling, slid off the bed. He wore fancy tennis shoes, and beige trousers. His belt had what looked like a state on it, and his shirt was bright and colorful. Hawaiian. His hands were big, knotted, and shook slightly with age.

But as Chase concentrated once more on the face, he raised his eyebrows high and opened his eyes wide. This might as well have been House himself, in about thirty to forty years!

He blinked again as the man moved closer and... what the hellllll was he doing?

The stranger tucked his arms up close to his body. Elbows to his ribs while he clawed two fingers. Then he bent his knees slightly and tilted his head back making a... small... roar? Chase gave a startled laugh. It was like Jim... what was his name? Jim Carrey's? His impersonation of a T. Rex! He'd seen it a few times on various movies.

The old man scooted up to the side of Chase's bed and 'roared' again before pretending to try and eat his IV.

"Who... Who are you?" He asked with a small smile and a trace of wonder. He'd already figured out that this person was somehow related to House. But he was acting like a nut. Not senile. Just like... a crazy person.

The old man smirked at him and straightened up, holding the side of the bed, and bracing himself. He still had a slight shake to his hands, and looked a bit on the fragile side, but he was very much alive and didn't seem sick at all.

"You can call me Uncle Lee." The old man's voice was a bit more raspy than House's own. But the timber and tone were a mirror. It was as though someone had added a bit more 'static' to House's own speech.

"You're... House's Uncle." Chase looked him up and down again, still not sure how to take the man. Especially since the man was wiggling his fingers near the IV pump, as though he were considering what to push first. "I don't think... you should touch that."

"So many buttons, begging to be pushed! I'm Greg's Fantastic-Uncle. True, tradition says I should be called 'Great', but I'm just a whole lot better than that!" The old man shook a long worn finger at him. "Lee House. And you are... not Greg. But you know him!" He chuckled low in his throat and then took Chase's wrist, looking at the bracelet. "Robert Chase. Mind if I call you Robbie?" He asked.

"Uh... sure..." He wrinkled his brow, but still smiled ruefully. "If that makes you happy."

"Would make me happy to have a million bucks, but reckon this is as close as I'm gonna come at the moment to that elusive emotion. Now... what happened to you? Got run over by a semi?" The old man asked, not quite poking at the brace that was through the bed clothes visible.

"No, not quite." Chase chuckled. That was one thing about House's family, apparently. They all wanted to 'know' what was going on.

"Did ya piss someone off?" Lee asked this time, squinting at the hand that was wrapped.

"Not really. Not lately, at least." Chase shook his head gingerly, still smiling.

"Were ya stupid?" He asked this time, tilting his head and squinting at Chase. Chase was definitely reminded of House when he was on the track of some elusive bit of information.

"Uh... yeahhhhhhh..." Chase laughed this time, nodding as the older man started to nod with him.

"That'd do it!" The old man shoved Chase's legs over gently. He was amazed that the old man could do it without injuring him further or even causing any pain. And then with a weak little 'jump' sat down beside them, kicking his legs like a little kid on the side of the bed.

"Visiting hours are over." He told the boy. "Figure that great nephew o' mine is waiting till he thinks it's safe before wandering on down here. Saw John prowling around earlier. He didn't see ME though. Better that way."

"I had figured he just needed a break from me today. He's been dealing with my case way longer than he's used to." Chase explained. "Rarely sees one for longer than a week or so..."

"Stuff and nonsense, boy!" Lee poked his good leg with the tip of one of his fingers. "Don't let him tell you that shit. That boy wasn't always some hoity toity Diagnostian or whatever it is he's calling himself these days. Boy was a kidney doctor, and one of them... disease doctors. He used to have long term patients. Treated kids and adults. Saved a lot of them over the years! And the boy's been taking care of hisself for a lonnnnng time. He's his own patient! Never treated a patient long term. Sheeet... That boy nursed many a patient through a rough patch. Got burned out eventually tho'. It's hard on a body, watching some lil'kid have to go through all that pain and stuff, only to die because there's no 'match' to save them in the end? But he used to do it. Don't let him tell you otherwise! He's hiding for other reasons than just you."

The man rubbed his fingers and knuckles, and grabbed the remote by the wire, pulling it to himself. "Gimme here. I'll show ya how it is done." He turned to some kind of sitcom and then patted the boy's leg. "You'll be fine. I'll just keep you company until Greg's back!"

"Where... are you from?" Chase asked suddenly. The man didn't talk like Blythe House. And the way House himself talked, was a good indication of how his father probably talked as well. This man, was... different.

"Oh, here and there, mostly there." Lee said vaguely. "Just up here for a visit. See what kind of trouble Greg has got hisself into this time. Lil'Tommy e-mailed the whole family. I called Blythe to find out what was up. She told me she was gonna visit." He shook his head. "Told her that wasn't gonna end well. But she's a woman. You know how they can get. Get an idea in their head and they have to follow through."

"So you came up to..." Chase asked, squinting a little.

"Do some damage control!" Lee announced. "That and to watch the fireworks! This thing here has been coming to a head for a long time. Ain't gonna miss it now!"

There was a small sound at the door, and Chase turned to look. House looked like he'd seen a ghost before his mask fell smoothly back in place. "Uncle Lee? What are you doing here?" He asked, limping quickly into the room and in front of the man, dropping his backpack on the floor by the bed.

Uncle Lee pulled out a small deck of cards. "Pick a card, any card!"

House narrowed his eyes, but did so. "Uncle Lee?"

"Now, look at it, and... put it between your hands tight! Just was telling the boy. I'm here to bail you out of jail. Either that, or to get a good seat for the fight of the century." Lee told him happily. "Now, if'in John goes to jail? Too bad. I'm not bailing his fat ass out. And I already know that ain't how an Uncle should feel about his nephew, but the boy has never been right in the head. Just like his damn father! My brother was a damn nut too!"

"Uncle Lee, I would really..." House looked angry, and he pressed his lips together. He still had the card pressed tightly in his hand after glancing at it. "Do not talk about this kind of stuff with..."

"Oh, you just hush your self. I'll talk to whomever I want about whateveh I want!" The man told him stubbornly. "Ain't no secret you and John never saw eye to eye. Hell, I don't see eye to eye with the man, and I love him. But he's an IDJIT! Now, look at the card!"

House looked to the ceiling, and then down with a deep breath. Lee met his look defiantly, arms crossed over his bony chest.

"Don't make me take ya over my knee. You ain't too big to spank." The old man threatened as he patted his knee, and that was enough to get House to smirking and laughing to the side. "Now, be a good boy and look at the card!"

"What are you doing in this room? Visiting hours are over, old man." House found his seat and sat in it, staring up at Lee and then looked over at Chase. Then he looked at the card and laughed in delight. He turned it over to Chase and smiled. "It was a nun before..."

Now it was a naked woman with a whip. Heat activated, apparently. Because as Chase watched the card cool off, it was starting to don a nun's outfit. Chase bit down on a smile and then nodded as he couldn't resist chuckling as well.

"Bugging you. Knew you'd hide out till you thought it was safe. Ain't never gonna be safe with ME around!" The old man said proudly. "But, John took off about half an hour ago. I hid in the toilet until the nurses stopped rooting people out."

"That's true. You are a menace to society. I always loved that about you!" House admitted, nodding slowly with the wisdom of it, smiling slightly. Chase realized that House was actually... happy. Relaxed. He did honestly like this relative. "Where are you staying?" House asked the old man, still smiling.

The old man snorted and looked around. "Well, until the boy yelled, I was staying over there in that bed. Was planning on having a nap while waiting."

"You surprised me!" Chase defended himself, but was amused. He leaned back in the bed, and watched the old man that had made himself at home on the side of his hospital bed. He handed Chase a random card. It was a woman in a suit. Chase placed it against his arm and held it with his left hand. After about half a minute, he pulled it off and laughed. She... was a he. Sort of. Boobs and a penis. He handed the card back to Lee.

"Uncle Lee, you can't sneak around the hospital and sleep here. It's not a hotel." House paused and then squinted. "What the hell am I saying? I had no idea Wilson was contagious!"

"I've heard about this Wilson fellow. You've got to be careful of people like him. They're insidious." Lee said sagely. "Before long, you'll be saying that it is wrong to part a fool from their money."

House chuckled and shook his head. "Not yet. But he's been trying to convince me of that for years."

Chase was amazed by the fond look that House gave his Uncle. He'd not really ever seen House with a look like that before. Unless, you counted a photograph where he looked like he 'cared'. But this was that look coupled with a small smile.

The man shoved the cards into a hip pocket and then patted Chase's leg again. Trying to keep Chase in the conversation somehow? Or at least let Chase know he was acknowledging his presence? "I don't care none where I stay. I've slept in worse over the years. I ever tell you about the time I slept in a barn for three days because of Lucy changing the locks after she caught me in bed with her sister?"

House covered his face with his hands and laughed quietly. "Yeahhhhh, once or twice. I..." The man gave his Uncle that same fond look and shook his head. "I also remember being told that she divorced you, twice, in ten years time!"

"My Lucy always kept her promises. If she threatened me with something, she'd follow through! Took two years to win her back, and then she divorced me the second time because I lost our furniture in a poker match. Got her back a third time, but didn't marry her that last time. Stayed together in happiness for ten more years before the cancer got her! But every day with her was an ADVENTURE! Never take the easy route, boy. It's boring!" Lee winked in approval. "Now, tell me about this boy here? Why are you spending so much of your time in here? I asked people where you'd likely be, and they all said here. And this kid said you were getting tired of him, and needed a break. What's up? Is the honeymoon over already? Sheesh. Boy, you gotta be patient with the lad. How you expect him to live up to your expectations if he's trussed up like a Sunday turkey? Unless you're into that kind of thing. Which I ain't one to judge. Just... at least have the courtesy to buy him dinner first! Maybe THEN he'll put out!"

House gaped at him, and then laughed. "I... you...You old bastard. People think I'm a dirty old man?" House told him. "What if I said it wasn't any of your business?"

"I'd hound you. Hound you. Hound you. Sneak around, ask everyone else. Charm some of them nurses out there to tell me something good. Break into your office and ransack your files. And then come back here and then bug ya some more." The old man said in a reasonable manner, arms once more crossed over his chest. "So you wanna skip the rest and jump straight into the telling?"

House looked over at Chase and raised his brows. "You mind?"

Chase shook his head. "Nothing to really hide or be ashamed of, right?" He reasoned. "But I ain... I'm not telling him." He corrected himself. The old man was more infectious than Wilson at this point. He smiled slightly. "It isn't as though I'm honestly in bondage gear here."

Straightening his leg out in front of him, House leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. "He's... a friend. He's been staying with me, after he got hurt. And he'll be staying with me as he gets better again. Nothing to it."

"Liar." Lee grinned and pointed.

"What? No I'm not!" House denied. "I told you the truth!"

"You told me part of the truth. What's this I heard about hand holding, hair petting, and fighting in the ER with Lil'Tommy boy?" The old man was grinning, giving House a smug look and his eyes glittering in humor. "Ooooh boy ho! Is your dad 'happy' to hear that. Not!"

"Youuuuu bastard." House intoned. Obviously ignoring the part about his dad being unhappy with hearing the rumors. "You've already been talking to nurses."

"I've also already been in your office. But that's beside the point. Oh, nice Ipod, kiddo." He pulled the small item out of his other pocket and held it up for Greg to see. By this point Chase was desperately trying not to laugh. Because House was gaping at his Great-Uncle like a fish and then struggling to get up before he grabbed his Ipod back. The old man tried to put it behind his back, but House still managed to snatch it away.

"Stop stealing my stuff! Well, all right. Tell me what you think is going on?" House challenged sitting down. He shoved his Ipod into his jacket pocket, and then put his hand over it for protection.

"I think you're having fun with some of the nurses around here. Feeding the gossip mill with little tidbits you're making up. I think you were up on the roof earlier, trying to sort yourself out, and hide from your pa. Heh, I'm smart enough to look 'up' at some point when looking for people. So... am I right? Wrong? In the neighborhood?"

House narrowed his eyes at his Uncle, and Chase almost laughed again. It was nice to have someone else do that to House for once.

"And if I say you're wrong?" House asked, lifting his brows with a small smile.

"I'd say you're a liar." He winked. He got a sly look in his eyes and then said. "A doctor walks into a bank. Preparing to endorse a check, he pulls a rectal thermometer out of his shirt pocket and tries to write with it. Realizing his mistake, he looks at the thermometer with annoyance and says, "Well that's great, just great... some asshole's got my pen."

House looked stunned at first and then laughed. "You heard about... that how?"

"I have my sources!" The old man smirked. "Not quite how it happened, but... eh. My version is much better!"

"It's also a very old joke." House gave him a small good natured glare.

"I'm also a very old man. And apparently you remembered that old joke at some point." He shook a finger at his great-nephew.

"And you've taken me off track again." House accused. "You can't just skulk around the hospital hiding and sleeping here. You... can stay at my place!" He slapped his good leg making a decision. He looked at Chase and said. "Not like you're going home yet! Right?"

Chase nodded in agreement.

"You'd end up strangling me before the night was over!" The old man laughed shaking his head.

"No no, I'll just... give you the key and you can have run of the apartment. I can stay here, and that way I don't have to beat you with my cane, and you won't smother me with a pillow!" House nodded after a moment.

"I don't want to be rousting you from your bed, boy!" Lee protested, holding his hand up to ward the key off. "It's your home!"

"Yeahhhh wellllllll..." House hedged. "If I go home, before tomorrow..."

"You think John isn't gonna wait for the epic showdown battle tomorrow and ambush you at your place." Lee said knowingly. "You're trying to put it off and make sure it is on your terms. Not his."

"My whole life, growing up, was on his terms. It's only fair that I get to do this... my way." House smirked a little, but it was a bit wry. He didn't look as though he was looking forward to it.

"Alrighty then. Can't argue that. But don't you dare start the show without me. I've been waiting for this for nigh on to... well... since you were sixteen!" The old man rubbed his hands together. "Ain't nice to deprive an old man of his final moment of glory."

House fished the key out of his pocket again and gave it to Lee after the old man got off the bed and came to him. The old man folded him in a one armed hug, which House awkwardly returned as though not sure he should, or that he'd break the old man in half. And then he started to shuffle out. "Now, you two, you stay out of trouble till I get back. And if you find trouble, wait for me. I don't wanna miss out." The old man waved good bye to them both before shutting the door.

"Sooooo..." Chase smiled. "That is your... I'm guessing your favorite Uncle?"

House smiled and tilted his head in a nod. "Got it in one. He's about ninety-two years old, and still has most his own teeth. Just missing a few here and there. And most of them, Great-Aunt Lucy knocked out with a skillet. But considering she came home to all her jewelry missing, her television gone, and not a bit of furniture in the house? Iiiiiii kind of get the feeling he probably deserved it! Still has all his marbles too. Smart man. Was a farmer back when he was young."

"He acted like a T-rex when he first got in here." Chase pointed out.

"And I MISSED IT!" House bitched, looking disappointed. "He used to do that for me, when I was a kid. Especially if I was sick or something. He'd pretend to eat my pillow, or my head."

Chase laughed. "I like him."

"Yeahhhh..." House pursed his lips, still smiling a little as he thumped his cane a couple of times. "I do too. He came to visit whenever I stayed with my grandmother. Oma. He lived down the road. Oma used to say that Uncle Lee never moved because he was looking out for her since her husband had died. Uncle Lee used to say, he didn't move because he was still hoping to get into her pants." House made a face and shuddered, making a gagging noise before smiling again.

"Sounds like he was a lot of fun to have around." Chase said, not questioning. Just, making open ended statements for House to either leave or pick up on.

"Yes, he was. Still is. My daaaad hated him. Which was even better." He admitted, standing up and pulling the mussed sheet to the side to climb up onto the bed. He toed his shoes off and got comfortable. "He used to take me fishing when I was small. Not that I fished. I just sat there while HE fished. But he still took me with him."

"I have never been fishing." Chase commented. It was mostly a way of putting a volley out, to see if it would keep House talking.

"It's rather boring." House said, and then he snapped his fingers. "Oh yeah..." He hopped on his left leg, off the bed and to his backpack. He shuffled through it, and then pulled out three puzzle books and a pen, before tossing them on the lap-table. "Should be fun to watch you use your left hand." He snorted and then climbed back onto the bed.

Well, obviously the conversation about family was over. And with that, House took control of the television, and Chase sorted through the different puzzles. But the feeling of boredom wasn't nearly as bad, and it was finally a comfortable silence. He was at peace.

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	59. Chapter 59

Chase knew he wouldn't have a 'ringside' seat to the 'epic battle of the century'. After all, he was still laid up in bed. The only time he got to 'do' anything now, was when RJ came in to work with him a little bit. Sit on the side of the bed, stretch his arms. Oh, and the joy of a sponge bath, of course! At least, RJ was professional about it. Scrubbed him down, and then got on with it. No lingering. Not to mention, he chatted about things going on out there. Out there in the 'great beyond'. Where people were still living life! So, he'd resigned himself to the fact that he was probably not going to hear about it at all. Because House wouldn't tell him! He'd have to find out what little bit was revealed through Wilson.

With that all in mind, he hardly expected to HEAR it in person!

He didn't know why he would have ever thought that House and his Uncle were 'kidding' or exaggerating when they said it was going to be a fight. Somehow, he'd gotten to thinking that it would be a lot like the fights he'd seen parents and their adult children have here in the hospital. Restrained. Perhaps vicious words, yes. Maybe, if they were a rowdy bunch a punch might get thrown. But it would be short, to the point, and then done. Bitter, yes? But it would be confined to House's office with no witnesses.

Someone, probably House, would then stomp off. His parents would go home. His mother would probably cry. His dad would be angry at his son. And then around holidays they would try to patch the rocky bridge and get along for the sake of the mother. Typical!

Boy, was he wrong.

He wasn't sure at first what he was hearing. It started as just an angry rumble. When he became aware of distinct angry voices and crying, he thought perhaps one of Wilson's parents had died. People tended to act out in grief. And if it was a sudden death, it might have resulted in the family being disruptive. That was not unknown.

Then the fight seemed to be moving down the hall. Toward his room and he frowned. Damn. What the hell? Sounded like a Jerry Springer episode in the making! He was missing whatever was going on. He was curious too. Even he tended to look at car wrecks, even when he wasn't needed because the participants were past help or already taken away in an ambulance. He was frustrated! It wasn't fair!

Wait, that was House's voice!

That was when Chase's eyes widened and then he could hear Lee crowing about something. The other male's voice had to be John House. That meant... the crying was probably Blythe.

And now Wilson was in the mix. Huh...

He strained to try to hear what was being said.

"You're a goddamned liar!" John House was roaring. "You take it back!"

"Whatever dad. But it's over, done with. Go home." House was saying, his voice was getting ever closer. It was irritated with the restrained anger that usually warned that House was about to really turn loose on someone.

"No, you're not going to get away with this. We've been through hell with you, and this is the thanks we get?" John was bellowing. "Get back here, damn you!"

"Yeah, yeah it is. Thanks, dad! Thank you! There, now you've had your thanks. Go home. And leave me the hell alone! It's over. It's done with. I'm not taking anything back. I'm through!"

There was a clatter and the sound of voices rising and falling in a frantic and chaotic babble. And the next thing Chase knew, House was practically being carried and then dumped into a chair by Wilson and Foreman, Lee on their heels before the two doctors were rushing back out once more. He saw the elder House, John, for only a split second before Foreman was practically tackling the man back into the hallway, Wilson trying to help. The door shut with a resounding bang as Lee reached over and latched it. On the other side there was banging and yelling and finally it all quieted down as the fight was being dragged down and away as Security added to the mess.

Chase stared at House for a moment and gaped. "House!" He wrestled with his IV for a second, and managed to shift in his bed to sit on the side. The splint on his thigh, not to mention the brace, kept him from really bending anything. And he couldn't really put any weight on his left leg because it hadn't strengthened quite yet. But he was able to look at House better from this vantage point. "House! Are you all right?" He reached out his left hand, trying to get to him. "You're bleeding!"

"Ooooweee, was that boy mad!" Lee cackled as he returned to House's side. "Wish I had a picture when you broke your cane over his head!" He said in approval and pride while grabbing one of the small wash bowls meant for the sponge baths and hobbled to the bathroom to fill it with water. "You really let him have it! Good boy!"

Chase felt more awake than he had in literally days. He felt the jolt of adrenaline thrumming through him as he took in the damage he could see. He reached out with his left hand again, and nearly fell off the bed and would have if Lee hadn't steadied him. "Now you hold on, kiddo... won't do him a damn bit of good if you go splat on the floor. Hold on a sec."

He put the water basin on the lap table and then used a bit of leverage to scoot House's chair a bit closer to the bed. "You tell me what to do, and I do it. An' you just sit there like a good patient. Used to doctor animals on the farm. Ain't much different from humans, if anything, more complicated than!"

House was blinking slowly, in a daze. He raised a hand, only for Lee to grab it and look at it. "Think its broke, ayup." The old man straightened the finger, causing House to protest with a very loud and prolonged 'ow'.

"What the hell, old man?" House glared through glassy eyes. His voice was slurred.

"He's got a concussion." Chase pronounced seriously. "We need to get Foreman back in here."

"Hadda straighten them. Don't want them to set up crooked." He said lightly, and then reached for some tape the nurse left in the room for Chase's IV and dressings. He taped the fingers together, ignoring House's ows and stops. "Which one is that Foreman fella? The black one? He's got a great right hook!" He pulled back and mimed boxing for a second. "I love a doctor that can throw down!"

"Are you sure you need my help?" Chase snorted in near amusement as the old man checked for other injuries.

"Ayup... so what next doc?" He asked of Chase, looking at his great-nephew. "Know how to check for breaks, and for bleeding. But ain't got no idea of the stuff that goes on inside beyond that. Truth be told. Back in the day, horse went lame, ya shot 'em! But ain't either of us ready for the glue factory just yet. Right boy! We're tough!" He cheered his great nephew on.

"Look at his eyes. Are the pupils even or dilated?" Chase asked. "Did his dad hit him more than once?"

"Ayup." Lee nodded. "But before he went down, Greg let him have it with his cane. Thing of beauty! Of course, the bastard has a hard head. So it didn't stop him all that much. He's a bit of a bull elephant. Greg was always a scrapper, but he was more of a runner than a quarterback! And they look uneven to me. Oh, and look at that glare. I think he's still in there all right." Lee looked through one ear and then pretended to wave at Chase through it. "Look, I can hear the ocean!" He claimed. "I think his pupils are a bit larrrrge."

Chase's lips twitched and asked House. "How bad is the head pain? Blurry vision? Double vision?"

Lee had dunked a cloth left by the nurses into the water and started to clean the wound on House's head. "Looks like this might need to be stitched up... maybe some of that glue stuff they use these days. Just smoosh it back together and glue it! Hey! I got some duct tape in my truck! Hold that real tight! It's going to be all right boy. Best place to get hurt is in a hospital."

"I think we'll pass." Greg told the old man, taking the cloth out of his uncle's hand and held it to his own head. He looked a bit wobbly to Chase. Chase wanted desperately to get off the bed and do a real neuro exam.

"Do you know your name?" Chase asked.

"Gregory House. I'm at PPTH. It's... today..."

Damn it! He didn't know what today was? Chase winced. "We need Foreman."

There was a sharp knock on the door, and Lee shuffled over to it yelling. "What's the password?"

"Um..." It was definitely Wilson's um there. "Everybody lies?"

"Nope, try again!" Lee chuckled.

"House!"

"Yeeeeessss?" Lee sang through the door. "What?"

"Open the door, House!" Wilson said in irritation.

"Not till you give me a good password!" Lee insisted.

"You're an ASS!" Wilson yelled through the door.

Lee grinned and said. "That works!" He opened the door and then watched in glee as Wilson tripped over himself and put a hand to his mouth. So embarrassed and looking at the old man in shock.

"I'm so sorry! I thought you were House... I didn't mean..." Wilson looked back at Foreman who looked vaguely amused, despite the bruise forming on his jaw.

"I am House. I'm A House. I'm Lee House. I'm also an ass! Come on innnnn boys! Party's just startin'! I'll call the hookers, you get the popcorn started!" Lee cackled and shut the door behind them, going over to the phone. "You Foreman? The boy has a concussion. Robbie says you can help with that. You're a head doctor right? Please go help my boy!"

"It's like... a glimpse into the future." Foreman said in vague wonder of Lee. "Yes, I'm a Neurologist."

"House? Are you all right?" Wilson came over to look at the damage. He shined a light in the man's eyes as House tried to duck it.

"I'm fine. Just knocked off balance for a moment. I'm fine." House denied, but his voice was still slurred.

"He's got broken fingers, and he's going to need stitches." Chase pointed out to Wilson. "Not to mention the concussion."

"I'd also like to get a scan of his head. He did more than just knock you off balance. I'll try to get the machine for us!" Foreman rubbed his jaw. "You know, Cuddy called the police. They're going to want to talk to you." He warned House.

"Nothing to say. Had an argument. It's over. They're to go home. All will be well." House shook his head gingerly while Wilson gently peeled the cloth back to look at the damage. House's eyes were glazed and Chase reached out far enough to touch his shoulder, then walked his fingers far enough to touch his neck.

"He feels clammy." Chase said, sitting back on the bed further as his back protested.

"All will be well? Bullshit!" Foreman argued. "The man was going to take you apart! You can't let that go!"

"Yes, I can." House told him. "I hit him back. It's over. Let it go."

"Well, fine. You know what? He hit ME!" Foreman pointed at his own face. "And he got in a good swipe at Wilson. WE aren't letting it go."

"Let it go. Besides, do you really want to admit a man near seventy punched you?" House asked Foreman. "All you're going to do, is make my mom cry some more. I think I've done enough of that today. Done enough of that for a life time."

"Hold on there young man. You feel you need to talk to the police. You do it. His mom is a big girl. She knows what she's married to. She don't need to be protected. You do what you think is right." Lee advised Foreman. "Don't let this boy talk you out of it. He's got the guilts. That's all. Even tho' he ain't got a goddamn thing to be guilty about!"

Foreman pressed his lips together, and nodded once at the old man. He didn't say anything as he stormed out, probably to try and get the machine for the scans. He gave no indication to anyone either way on what he was planning to do. But Chase had a feeling that Foreman would talk to the police.

Wilson meanwhile shook his head. "House..."

"Not a word." House told him severely. His eyes kept trying to close, and House would jerk them open at the last second.

"H--"

"No." He told the man that was probing the cut over his eye.

"What the hell happened? I mean..." Chase just gestured fruitlessly at the door, confused. "I knew they were going to argue, fight, have it out. But I didn't think it would get so physical! Above all, I figured it would happen in private!"

"It started out private." House said. "Annnnd then, it wasn't so private. And now it's over."

"It's not over." Wilson insisted. "Because you're going to have a scan. Your pupils are dilated, more than they should be. Even with the Vicodin. And you lost consciousness at first. Also, you're going to need a stitch or two for this cut. And Cuddy... You didn't see Cuddy's face."

"I don't want to imagine it. But hey, do you think this will get me out of Clinic hours?" House looked up with vague hope in his eyes.

"Maaaybe." Wilson hedged.

Lee got off the phone. "Couldn't get any hookers. But I did manage to..."

He didn't get to finish what he was saying as the door opened suddenly admitting two women. "Helloooooo ladies!" The old lech grinned. "You're fast. Strippers usually take at least an hour to arrive."

They both turned to look at him, and then back at House. "Don't blame me! He corrupted ME! It's not my fault! He made me this way!" House pointed at the old man. He nearly fell forward until Wilson caught him.

Lee shuffed forward and leaned in to Cuddy. "You smell niiiiiiiiice." He said with a sweet smile, batting his eyes. "Are you a doctor? I should have a physical soon."

Cuddy gave a strained, but polite smile before ducking away from his hands and walked quickly to the bed. Cameron made a small 'eep' noise and jumped before spinning around to look at Lee. "Sorry, girlie. They sometimes have a mind of their own." Lee held up his hand.

Chase coughed into his hand, trying not to smile or laugh. "Now, now, Allison. He's ninety-two! You should... just... humor him."

"The police will be up soon. House, are you all right?" Cuddy asked, bending closer to look at the damage herself.

"He has a concussion." Wilson told her. House was staring straight ahead.

"House? House can you hear me?" She asked.

"Huh? I was just pondering that... you have a little lace rose right there on your bra between the love pillows. Reminds me of those little girl bras. Any chance of talking you into wearing a school uniform?" House asked.

"He'll live." Cuddy straightened up quickly and pulled her shirt up higher.

"Oh, let me see?" Lee held up his hand. "It's been a loooooooooong time. An' I don't count the Sears catalog..."

Cuddy sighed, a look of annoyance on her face. "I'll be back soon. I'm meeting the police downstairs. Security has your father in custody." She informed him as she opened the door. "Nurse Brenda has your mother sequestered in one of the exam rooms."

"I'm going to get a wheelchair!" Cameron hurried out after Cuddy, edging around Lee, keeping her rear away from him.

"Crap." House groaned, pressing a hand to his head. "I don't think... Need... oh sh--!"

Wilson grabbed the garbage can and shoved it under House's face seconds before he emptied his stomach into it. "Oh... gaaaawd..." He leaned back in the chair, panting while Wilson shoved the garbage can away.

"How did it...?" Chase gestured with his good hand. "I mean..."

"Eh, Greg told John that if Blythe wanted to visit, that was just fine with him. But that he didn't want to see John anymore. I think he did it in a right reasonable manner. Quiet like. In his office. Sounding professional. John started in on him, ranting a bit. Brought up some stuff that was heard. Annnnnd Greg decided to walk out rather than keep up the fight. Only John got more het up about it when Greg wanted to bow out of the fight. You know, like someone intelligent? But John said it meant the rumors were probably right anyway, and that Greg was a nancyboy."

Chase winced and sighed, frowning. "They were just..."

"Yeah, I know. And even if they are true, John's just an ass. Always have been. Anyone that is different, and he would never like it. Anywho, Greg walks out, and John follows him. Yellin' the whole time. Calling him a coward, and all. Recounting all of Greg's mistakes he could think of. Saying he just wasn't being a man... the usual. Annnd they got about outside here when it got physical. Greg told him off, and John lost his temper more and... that's about all she wrote right there. Wilson here and that black guy out there, they pulled John off of him, and I reckon they tried to keep him out of here till Security took care of it?"

Wilson nodded in confirmation of the last part.

"I would have thought that Mr. House was one of those that tried to keep everything behind closed doors." Chase mused, giving House a concerned look as he realized that House was starting to look a bit more disoriented and confused. The concussion was definitely a bad one.

"Usually, but we Houses do have a flair for the dramatic at times." Lee shrugged. "Just happens John picked now, since he thought he was in the right. As usual. You should see the family reunions!"

Cameron returned with the wheelchair and then between her and Wilson, they managed to get House into it.

"I'll just stay right here with the boy. I don't need to be underfoot." Lee pointed at Chase as they left. When they were gone, Lee put an arm around Chase's back. "Now come on, let's get you back into bed right like. That leg is gonna hurt a bitch in a few. Same as your back. Looks like you had a bit of a nasty fall once."

Chase just made a small noise and kind of nodded as Lee gently moved his legs around for him. "You're good at this." He pointed out, still surprised by the gentleness.

"My Lucy was pretty bad off at the end." He admitted. "Gave up on the hospital. Nothing could be done. So... just came home. Let it go natural like at the end. I took care of her. Every day, all day, until it was over."

When he was settled, Lee crawled into the bed that was empty and crossed his legs at the ankles. "What shall we watch? They got cable around here?" He asked. "None of the good channels I bet! What this hospital needs, is the Playboy channel!"

Chase very carefully and methodically moved himself back to sit against the bed, using the controls to raise things here and there, moving his legs with his hand and wrist when needed. Luckily, he was pretty much situated the way he needed to be. "Uh, no. It doesn't have the good channels." He agreed. His mind was just too full to really think. So much had gone on, and now it was almost quiet as Lee took over the television. It all felt so surreal. And he wished he could be down with the others, finding out if House was all right. He hated waiting.

"You broke your hip as well as your back. You're a bit young to be breaking your hip." Lee stated. "You going to push that nifty button of yours? Looks like you're about to cry in pain."

Chase hadn't said a word about the amount of pain he was currently in. Trying not to think about it, now that the excitement was receding. Now that things were quieter, his leg and back were indeed screaming at him, just as Lee predicted.. He'd moved too much too quickly for their liking. "It hurts." He finally admitted carefully.

"Well then, push the damn button." Lee prompted. "I'll wake you if round two starts! I'll shove you in a wheelchair and take you out there next time! I can't have all the fun!" He reasoned. "You dope yourself real good... and we'll watch..."

He turned over and grinned at Chase. "Walker Texas Ranger!" Lee cheered.

Oh. God.

Chase pushed the button quickly. He couldn't do this without drugs. Not again!

He sighed in relief as it flowed through him. Just in time for yet another bar fight on the television. Chase forgot to ask who Lee really called.

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	60. Chapter 60

Lee eventually sat up and said. "Gotta go take care of something. Sit tight. I'll be back." Then he was off the bed and shuffling out the door without waiting for a word from Chase, leaving him confused.

"What?" The younger man blinked and then shook his head. It somewhat reminded him of how House would just sometimes jump up and go either with a quick 'Got to pee', or without a word. Something would cross his mind, and either he didn't want you to follow, or he would and you were expected to read his mind. Well, obviously, Chase wasn't going to follow.

In boredom, he was doing arm stretches, idly, when the door creaked open a bit later.

Chase had given up trying to guess who would come through the door next. He was always wrong, anyway. So why bother? But he was still surprised all the same by the woman that stepped through.

She'd once asked him to call her Blythe. But after everything that had been going on for the last few hours, it didn't seem appropriate. "Mrs. House?"

The older woman didn't say anything at first as she came closer to his bed. He took the time to look her over carefully, noting the red eyes and nose. The way her breathing was still hitching at times, and the glaze to her eyes. The way they still kept filling with tears before she'd wipe them away with her tissue. He sighed deeply. When would people stop coming to him? He never knew the right thing to say or do.

"I'm..." She trailed off, not looking at him. Instead, she looked at the IV bags that still hung above him. The oxygen mask that was at the ready in case he had more problems. The machines that were still wired to him, telling them that his heart was beating at a normal rate, and that he was getting enough oxygen. Then her eyes trailed over him, looking at where the IV was still connected to his left hand. The bandage on his right. The brace that peeked out around his shoulders.

He didn't prompt her to speak, and just waited for her to make the first move.

"You told me the truth the other day, right?" She asked him, as though she were not sure herself. "I've always taken a bit of pride in the idea that I can usually tell a lie from a truth."

He nodded slowly. "Yes, ma'am. First person in a long time that I did, other than your son."

Her eyes darted from side to side, as she thought some more. She took a few more breaths, letting them out harshly before she asked, "Will you tell me the truth again, if I ask?"

Chase paused and then very carefully said. "It... depends... if it is a truth I can't give, I agree to tell you that I refuse to answer. It'll save me the lie, and you the question of whether or not you can trust your instincts."

Blythe nodded slowly after a moment and then sank just as slowly down into the visitor's chair. "You say that my son loves me. Is that true?"

"Yes, ma'am." He could answer that in truthfulness. He felt relieved for some reason. A question he could answer with certainty. Still he nodded, and held his breath bracing himself for another question. One that he might not be able to answer.

"I... Is it true he doesn't want to see his father? It's not just some... phase?" She asked. "Just... angry at him for some reason?"

He blinked at that one, because... House was nearly fifty himself. Didn't they all get over having 'phases' when they were kids? But he still nodded. "He doesn't like to see him." He once again said carefully. He felt he could say such, since House had yelled it outside his door. Blythe already heard it. It wasn't news. It wasn't a secret.

"Why?" She asked, her hands were tight on the top of her bag. Her knuckles white and her face tense. Wide eyes begged him to tell her the truth.

"I... have no details." He finally shook his head. "Just what I heard through the door. But is it safe to say your husband is angry at him in return? There was violence. He... hit House first!"

She nodded, looking down. "My son doesn't always tell the truth though. He mixes lies with truth, and... John gets tired of it."

"What would he gain by lying right now?" Chase asked, curious. "You're hoping he's lying, because you want things to remain as they have always been. You don't want things to change. But House needs a change. Wants it."

You want to lie to yourself. Chase thought silently. Chase was feeling a little irritated, probably because she was more worried about this, than the fact that her son was... hurt somewhere! It was really... getting to him. It was the whole situation. It was surreal and insane, and wrong somehow!

She closed her eyes and was silent for a long time. He just watched her, starting to feel a bit antagonistic as he did so. Why was she here? Why wasn't she waiting in the lounge for word on her son? What did she possibly think he could tell her that was so much more important than what the doctors could?

But then asked asked. "Are you and my son living together?"

There it was. Was that really so important right now? He wanted to yell at her. He pressed his lips together and then thought about it. He raised his brows and thought about his answer again carefully. It was common knowledge at this point around the hospital. A lie served him no purpose. But he still wanted to tread this minefield with care. Instead, he asked. "Did House tell you that?"

She nodded, silently.

"He told the truth then." He answered in return, once more breathing easier. "He offered, I accepted." He added after a second, holding his hands out with a shrug. "Why would that be a problem? Friends... help friends! I need help. He's helping me."

Blythe looked up at him and looked him in the eyes, as though trying to read something there. It was disconcerting really. He felt like he was being seized up and weighed. "There is something there... not a lie. But not a whole truth. Do you care for him?" She asked, leaning forward and again staring him in his eyes.

"Starting to get a bit personal here." He gave her a small smile and then shook his head slowly. He held his hands up again, but this time in a 'stop' position.

"He's my son." She told him, her voice stern. "I'm told, that he cares for you. I've been told this by more than one person. I have a right to know that the person he cares for, and calls 'friend', feels the same for him."

"I care for him. All friends 'care' for each other. Otherwise, they'd not be friends." Chase said narrowed his eyes at the woman. "That is all you need to know. This isn't like answering questions about my past, or my childhood. Those things? They are in the past. I can take the experiences or leave them. I can decide if they hurt me or help me. But we're getting into other stuff now. Things that affect a wider range of issues. With those? Your rights end. What did HE say to you, about... things?"

She laced her fingers together and looked at them, tears flowing again as she turned slightly away from him. "John heard some of the rumors yesterday, as he tried to find Greg. Stuff about you and him, together. John... asked him about them. Greg refused to say they weren't true. Instead, he said... 'maybe they are, what are you going to do about it?' Then he said that, 'It wouldn't be the first time.' And... I just... don't know what to think. He's my son. I love him. But..."

That had been edited out of the recounting by Lee.

"Then you should continue to love him, and accept him." Chase was at a loss. He was not cut out for this kind of thing. He looked down at his own hands. "If it makes you feel any better. He didn't want to talk to the police. He wanted it to be 'settled' and 'done with'. Does it really matter if he and I were together like that? Would it make him a different person? Would you stop loving him? Would you disown him?"

She sighed a shaky sigh, shaking her head and closing her eyes. "Doesn't matter. I love him, as is. As always. It's just that... And... and it doesn't matter if he wants it done with. John made his choices too. It isn't up to Greg, me, or anyone else anymore. The police have already taken him off. It'll be a bit before I know how much I'll need to get him out again. Waiting on his call." She leaned forward, elbows on her knees as she watched the floor. She looked lost. Her family was falling apart, and she couldn't hold it together anymore.

"I can't help you." He finally said, sighing deeply with all the exasperation he felt. "I don't know what to do, or say, or advise. Your son has become one of my best friends. And... he's hurt. I don't know what his condition is. I don't know anything really about what it is that makes him so angry with his father that he finally can't deal with him any more. All I DO know is, that he loves you very dearly. And he doesn't want you to cry because of him. On the other hand, you're here, asking me questions that I can't really answer, instead of there, trying to find out how he is. He has a head injury that your husband and his father gave him. I think that is a good indication that House has a good REASON for not wanting to be around him!"

He was frustrated. He was trapped here. He couldn't go help. He had no answers. He wanted to know what was going on. And he was here with a woman that had answers to some of the things that started this mess, but because she wouldn't face them...

"I... should go check on Greg." She finally said, standing up. She looked guilty, embarrassed, and was again crying.

Chase nodded, feeling only a touch guilty. "I think so. God knows I can't." He sighed in irritation. "I would if I could."

"I'll... I'll let you know, how he's doing." She bit her lip and then nodded to herself. She looked back at him, over her shoulder once before going through the door, leaving him alone once more.

"This SUCKS!" He ground out, sulking by himself on the bed.

How was House?

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	61. Chapter 61

It was two hours later, and he'd already buzzed the nurses four times trying to find out what was going on. RJ had come in one of those times, and unfortunately... had taken away his pump. He'd wanted to protest, but knew it was a wasted effort. "It's time for you to be off it now. We've got you weaned down to where you can just take pills again. If it gets bad though, buzz us."

He'd asked about House, of course, but RJ shook his head and gave him a sympathetic look. "I'll try to find out, but..." He shook his head. "I'm sorry. I've not heard anything yet. I'll try though." He'd patted Chase's leg before heading out again.

He was about ready to start throwing things across the room like a two year old. Or perhaps bribe someone to get him in a wheelchair and wheel him down? That is when the door opened for a fifth time. He looked over, hopeful that it was Wilson, or Foreman... or even Lee!

But it was definitely not who he expected.

Thomas stood beside the bed silently for a few minutes, reading a chart before finally saying. "Greg is going to be all right. He has a very bad concussion from banging into the wall with his head when Uncle John decided to be King Jerk. But he's going to live. He's being admitted. He's in recovery now. Dr. Wilson is having him moved to this room. I can't decide if that is because it is easier to keep you both in one place, or because it'll keep you both from bugging everyone to see each other. Probably both..."

"Recovery!" Chase's mouth dropped open, he felt like he couldn't breathe. He'd seen House just after the injury. Knew it was a bad one. But he'd hoped it was just the police issue that was keeping them from returning to tell him what was going on. He'd hoped that there would be no complications. "He had surgery? What... What... What happened?" He gripped the railing of his bed tightly.

"Relax. I already told you he's going to live. Don't send yourself into a state. He'll live." Thomas told him again. He paged through the file slowly and shook his head, before rubbing his chin with his wrist. "As I was saying... Always said he had a hard head. He'll have hell of a headache though. And won't have to get a hair cut for a while."

Chase pressed his lips together and then growled. It was the irritation from earlier with Blythe times about a hundred. He was pissed. "This is all your fault." He pointed at him, fairly growling.

"My fault?" Thomas snorted, giving him a vaguely confused look. He honestly looked like he had no idea what Chase was talking about. "How do you figure that? I didn't hit him. I didn't shove his head into a wall. I'm an asshole, yeah. But I don't hit people! I only verbally assault people. I don't physically do it. And if I tried, I'm pretty sure that Greg would have defended himself. Easily."

"You might as well have! You started all this! If you hadn't e-mailed everyone, Blythe House wouldn't have insisted on coming to see him. Then, John House wouldn't have been here to hurt him. YOU set off this whole chain of events. This is all your damn fault! You bastard!" Chase gripped the railing of his bed hard in his hand again. If he could of... He pressed his lips together, feeling his heart racing.

Thomas raised his brows, watching the heart monitor with interest. Then he looked back at Chase, the only real emotion on his face was curiosity.

"Yes, I e-mailed everyone. But it isn't my fault that they have problems with each other. I did not either raise Greg, nor did I turn John into a bigoted heavy-handed asshole that he is. I didn't create the problems between them. I rarely even saw them, except for the family get-togethers. I've already had the lecture from Uncle Lee. He came up to my office and lectured me for at least half an hour. But I'll tell you the exact same thing I told him. The exact same thing HE already knew and has known for years! This was going to happen sooner or later. It should have happened thirty years ago!" Thomas told him in a low hiss, his eyes hard and cold. "I'm not sorry. I'm only sorry I missed it. I would have LOVED to see Greg hit the old man on the head with his cane. I would have loved to see him deck him. I wonder if there's any security camera footage..." He trailed off thoughtfully, his lips pursed as he looked away from Chase.

"That doesn't change that you orchestrated this!" Chase for a moment nearly lost what he was about to say. He'd never met someone like Turner who could be this cold at times. The man was a sociopath! "You started it! It's your fault. He could have been killed! Or brain damaged!"

"Yes, I guess I did start it. I'm still not sorry. The problem with adding the human element into any one plan or conspiracy is that it throws the outcome's projection off. There are too many variables." Thomas said thoughtfully. He was looking toward the window, thinking, and might as well have been discussing something he'd just read in the newspaper. Or the weather. "Many of the family realized that I was just being an ass, and they e-mailed me back with a 'ha-ha right, see you at the real reunion.'. They figured it out. Figured it was a practical joke. They weren't worried. Some were concerned, not many. But some. And those few that were wanted to go ahead and have it here... in five MONTHS. Five months, Dr. Chase. They weren't going to run out here and get into the middle of anything."

Chase didn't speak, and instead just listened. Wanting to see where Turner was going to go with this. When he added nothing, Turner nodded to himself, and did continue. "Most parents, that I'm aware of, would have called... asked about it... and once it was talked about, left it alone. My own, probably wouldn't have called at all. If forced to face any such accusation such as depression, they would have responded that I had the option of medication and therapy. They would have then dropped it. I'm well aware that that is not a normal reaction for parents. Now, I believe that if a normal parent was still concerned about it, they might come visit, yes. But it would not have turned into this kind of fiasco."

Chase had to admit, that a lot of families would have handled it differently. But again, he said nothing, and instead waited for Turner to continue speaking. After a moment, he did. "The reason it did, is because this part of the family is highly dysfunctional. I took that into consideration, but was still unable to predict the responses of either John or Greg. No... more accurately, I did not predict John's response. I was not aware of how violent he could become in public with provocation. My projected outcome for this scenario originally consisted of a very tense dinner for Greg with his parents. The alternative scenario did include an argument or fight, but not physical. Otherwise, I would have added that data to the scenario and would have chosen a less destructive... gambit."

Chase felt his mouth drop open as he regarded Thomas. The man had... what? He couldn't figure out what was more disconcerting. That Thomas had in fact thought it all out to that degree before acting. Even if he had made a mistake in his 'calculation'. Or that he'd done it at all. Not to mention, the man was still not sorry! "He's not a... a... study! Or... or a... science project! He's a human being! Don't you care at all?"

"But, human beings are to a point predictable. If you put a puzzle in front of Greg, he will try to solve it. Bore him, and he'll wander off to find something better to do. Put a game in front of him, and he'll play it. Leave him in a room by himself with nothing to do... he'll leave it. Or sleep." Thomas explained. "I did not predict this outcome to be so violent. For THAT I am sorry. But not the creation of the problem, or that it happened eventually. Because regardless, something was eventually going to happen. Unless John died beforehand, which obviously didn't happen."

"That is such a... a heartless..." Chase started, he couldn't believe someone would discuss such things with no real emotion. Chase wanted to deck him. Something! He was wanting to see House and make sure he was really all right. He pounded the mattress in impotent anger.

"Yes. I know. The heartless heart doctor. I've heard it before. But I am here. And I at least told you what was going on. If I honestly didn't care, I suppose it would be safe to say, I wouldn't even be here. Nor, would I have bothered to check his condition to tell you in the first place. Despite our relationship, he is family. I suppose, Uncle Lee has a point when it comes to that kind of thing." Thomas sighed. "Either way. Greg will be fine. They released the pressure that was building, and he won't even have any real damage. Maybe a headache." He amended at the end. "As for you, I'm going to want to do a Thallium scan. We'll inject the drugs into your system to mimic exercise, since you can't currently get on with truly doing so. Sibyll needs the results before she will file a true rehab plan. She's waiting on me to do it."

He grumbled slightly to himself about that. Something about damn pushy woman. "Anyway, your new roommate should be here soon. And I should be getting back to my other patients."

As he turned, Chase called out. "Turner? Do you feel anything? At all? Or are you just numb?"

Turner turned back and raised a brow, but didn't answer him.

"You're depressed." Chase told him.

With that, Turner shut the file and turned once more and left without a word.

Chase wanted to throw something at him. As the door shut behind him though, he realized one thing. No, make that two things. One: Turner really had followed House's 'case', seeing to the outcome. Which had to mean 'something' right? Like he said? Two: Turner came to tell Chase. He didn't leave Chase in the dark. He came and told him, when everyone else had sort of forgotten to do so. Not one person so far had come to tell him anything. True, it was an emergency, but he wanted to know! He... cared.

But that didn't mean that Chase wasn't still mad at Turner. Because he was. He still wanted to deck the other man! But it did mean that maybe there was a human in that man's body somewhere. Just buried deep deep inside. Somewhere.

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They brought him some pain pills, ironically Vicodin, within the next hour as his thigh and back keyed up a bit more. He almost wanted to laugh, if not for the fact that it did hurt. There was even an inane little part of his mind that suggested 'hey we should save one for House'. But he knew that was just some little hysterical part that was just nervous about the fact that they hadn't yet brought House in.

His stomach rumbled and reminded him that he was desperately hungry. They still hadn't really fed him yet, not since the diagnosis. He wasn't starving to death. And they wanted to give his intestines some time to heal. But thankfully, they promised him dinner tonight.

Unfortunately, he had a good idea of what that dinner would consist of. Liquids. Soup. Broth. That kind of thing. But it was better than nothing!

He had to admit, he was feeling better over all His stomach wasn't really hurting any more. The stuff they were giving him, was doing its job rather well. It was mostly just a time issue now. It would work itself all out. Even though it wasn't at a point where it would show up on the X-rays, his mind was convinced he was getting better, so... he felt better! Perhaps it was a placebo effect, but sometimes, that was as good as a cure in and of itself!

He had tried to work on a crossword puzzle, but the left hand issue was making it more frustrating than it was relaxing. He tried to fill it out with his mind, keeping track of what he'd already figured out each time, but his thoughts were too easily distracted. They kept wandering off to wonder when they'd bring House in? Where everyone was? Was he all right? He kept remembering the blood and the glassy look in House's eyes. It made him want to hit things again. Specifically, John House. With Turner a close second.

Chase tried to use his right hand with the puzzle next, but it was a bit sore after a few minutes and the bandage that RJ had changed earlier made it feel just too odd. He gave up, throwing it down on the lap table and muttered to himself.

Just when he was about to bother the nurses yet again... the door opened and a gaggle of people swarmed into the room pulling a gurney in with House on it. His heart jumped in his chest. The excitement from earlier once more pumping through him. He sat up, turning onto the side of the bed. It was getting easier for him to do, but he always paid for it later with pain and soreness. But he was trying to see past the nurses, Wilson, and the others. He had an impulse to yell 'move' at them. But, he made himself wait as they hooked things up, moved him from one bed to the other and got him situated.

He looked like he was dozing in and out, almost unaware of everyone around him. The nurses eventually depart, leaving only a few people in the room. This allowed Chase to get a better look at the other man. He winced to see that they'd had to shave House's head for the surgery. But it didn't look like they'd had to make too big of a mess with it. The area of surgery was rather small, considering.

House was still glassy-eyed and was merely opening and closing his eyes for long periods of time. The lights were on, but so far, no one was answering the door. The nasal cannula hissed oxygen for him, and his IV was the typical mix for the situation. Chase wished he could get a closer look, examine him personally. But there was no possible way. Not from here, and not without help.

Chase wanted to sit in the chair next to the bed, just as House had been doing for so long now. But again, that was impossible. Blythe slid into it instead. And he felt a pang of some emotion that he couldn't quite put a name to.

Lee stood by the bed, once more using the railing as a kind of brace, silent for once while Wilson just paced at the foot. No one spoke.

No one dared.

The tension in the room was worse than it had been when Turner had come to see him to tell him about Greg. It occurred to Chase, that there probably had been a fight at some point between these three. He also realized that they were only on truce for House's sake. But he could still feel the crackle of electricity in the air like before a major storm. He could imagine the rumble of thunder as they each glanced at one another.

House dropped off into a real sleep, and the stand off continued unabated. Chase was unwilling to break the silence either. The last thing House needed was for people to start screaming at each other, or arguing back and forth. He did go ahead and carefully get back under the covers and lean against the head of the bed which was elevated. His back and hip just did not like not having support involved. No one noticed his movement, or that he was even still in the room.

Wilson continued to pace until it seemed that he should have been dizzy. Because Chase was! Round and round and round... whoa spinning.

Then he realized that was probably just the Vicodin.

"Wilson." He whispered, fearing that if he spoke too loud, it would disrupt whatever was keeping the situation from spiraling out of control again.

Wilson hurried over to Chase, standing by his side and leaning over to speak to him quietly. "Sorry I didn't come to tell you anything before. It... it got a bit... messy. But House is going to be all right." He assured Chase, putting a gentle hand on his arm before glancing back over his shoulder at the sleeping man in question.

Chase nodded and then looked over at the bed as well. He wanted to ask more questions. He leaned forward a tiny bit and then wiggled his finger for Wilson to come closer. "What's going on? Fight?" He asked in Wilson's ear in a whisper, his eyes darting over for a moment to Lee and Blythe.

Wilson nodded, meeting his eyes. "It... got messy." He repeated, still whispering. He winced and then looked up to the ceiling in that 'heaven help me' look he tended to develop whenever he was dealing with an unreasonable House.

A loud beeping sound came from his hip and Wilson slumped, a pained look on his face as he fairly whined, "Not now!" Still, he looked at it. Wilson sighed and looked about himself helplessly. The problem with being a doctor was that you always had to interrupt your private life when an emergency developed for a patient. Their care came first most the time. House was stable, therefore Wilson had absolutely no excuse to ignore his 'other' patients.

"I have to go. I'll just be down the hall and to the right. One of my other patients needs me. You all... behave." He said the last weakly and then hurried out of the room in a jog. Off to play hero to some Cancer patient. No, he couldn't think of it too bitterly. The man was doing his job, after all. And did it well. And by the darkened bruise on his cheek, he'd taken a hit for House. He couldn't be mad at him for that reason alone.

Chase looked over to the older people. Blythe sat stock still in her chair, refusing to look at anyone except House. Lee finally took another visitor's chair that usually remained empty, and dragged it over. Sitting down on the other side of the bed, he put his hands back on the railing. It was still like some kind of standoff. Neither willing to give to the other. Neither willing to leave. No ground lost or won.

There was a moment when he wanted to yell at them both to either get on with it, or get over it. But he knew it was the frustration with the situation getting to him. It would not help anyone, least of all House, if he added more fuel to the fire.

Ooookaaaaay... Chase mouthed the word to himself and then lowered the head of his bed. He would close his eyes and let the pain pill do its work, while keeping an ear out for any more fighting. He wasn't sure what he'd do, other than call a nurse. But he swore that there would be no more fighting over the top of House. He could at least see to that, somehow.

True, he couldn't picture Blythe fighting with Lee physically. Well, maybe she'd hit him with her purse. But still. No chances.

He didn't have to wait long before they thought he was asleep.

"You going to bail that bastard out tomorrow?" Lee asked in a low voice filled with venom.

"Yes. He's my husband. I love him." Blythe whispered back, that helpless note that he'd heard in a lot of voices over the years. Usually of women that had come in, broken and beaten, but believing they had no choices. But she didn't appear broken or beaten. But how often did they on the outside?

"Figured as much. You always were a bit of an idiot." Lee's voice was a bit on the sneering side. Chase heard a put-upon sigh from the old man.

"And you were always a bit of a bastard." She retorted quietly, a waspish tone coloring her words.

"Ayup. You bet I'm a bastard. But at least I'm honest about it. You and John, you hide your ways behind nice words. Prettify them up, make them respectable. How many times you let John tear the hide off the boy when he was young? How many times did that there boy have to take an ice bath, cause of something so minor a time in the corner would have sufficed? How many times did that boy have to sleep outside without not so much a pillow, blanket, or tent... Just cause John got a burr up his ass?" Lee demanded. "You let that happen, and you're just as responsible as John for it. He never blamed you for it, but I sure as hell do. Cause a lot of them times, you're the one that told John to 'discipline' the boy. You never took responsibility for the 'discipline', but you're the one that sentenced him to it. You were the judge, John was the executioner. You ferreting out the lies, and John punishing him for it based on your testimony. And still, that boy never blamed you, because all he saw was his pa doing the dirty work. You're quite a piece of work, Blythe. Manipulative old bitch, you, you're a bad as John."

"It was a different time period then... parents were... expected to discipline their children in a stricter... If he hadn't lied so much. Hadn't been so disrespectful and rebellious... he would not have had to BE punished."

"Bullshit, woman! I'm older than you, and I know better. I'm not one of those little kids that you can play off of. 'Oh it was a different time...' Bullshit! My daddy never shoved me in no ice water! My daddy never made me sleep outside, unless we were camping! If Marijke hadn't passed away when she did, she fully planned on taking the boy from you." He told her sternly. "She loved that boy more than life itself."

"As if she was any better? What about the things she allowed her husband to do to John and his brothers and sisters?" Blythe demanded, fairly hissing at Lee.

"Her old man, my brother, was done dead by the time Greg was born. And, his ways weren't nothing like what John did to Greg." Lee said in a low growl. "I was there when my brother was helping to raise those kids. And yeah, he would lay hand on their backside. And yeah there was the 'closet' for when they were past listening. But he didn't torture them! And if he got a bit too handsy, I would throw down with him. Broke his nose after he took a switch to Peter and got too wild with it. And that was just a couple of welts that healed in good time!"

"And Marijke and him had many a fight over him being heavy handed. Chased him with a broom one night, and let HIM have it when he tried to tar the hide off of lil'Mary. The man came to my place black an' blue, and knew he'd deserved it! Marijke didn't have Johnny do all the discipline for the kids, she did it her ownself. You? Did you ever discipline him? No, it was always, 'wait till your father gets home!' Did you protest at all? "

"Of course, we talked about it..." She said awkwardly.

"Talked. Talked." Lee sneered. "You talllllked. Did you talllllk about the fact that every time Greg wanted to do something 'different' from John, he'd try to force him to do it his way? His way or the highway!"

"John thought the military would help Greg." She protested. "Make him more of a man. Pull the attitude back to something more manageable. Teach him discipline, like it did John!"

"He wouldn't have lasted in the military. He's too stubborn and rebellious, and he was never meant to be a follower!" Lee spat, sounding disgusted. "Not just the military though. Boy wanted to play with science kits. John wanted to buy him trucks. Boy wanted to be in track. John insisted he should be a football player. Build himself up. Boy wanted to be a doctor. He wanted him to be a grunt in the military. Never a word of approval, so long as he wanted to do something different from his pa. And since Greg wanted to be as different as possible, that meant NEVER!"

"I gave him as much support..." Blythe started forcefully.

"You gave him support and told him he was perfect the way he was. But it isn't what you say, it is what you do. And you never stopped John. Ever." Lee told her. "And you would have told John to lay off, if you truly thought he was perfect, or that he was in the right."

"What did you want me to do? Divorce him?" She asked, frustrated. "Fight with him every day, all day? Leave everything we knew and understood and went out there with nothing but the money in my pocket and the clothes on my back?"

"Yes! Yes. Hell yes! If that is what it took. Hell, we all would have helped ya if that is what it took. Leastwise, I would have. Marijke would have." Lee said. "We would have helped ya. We even offered! We loved John, but we could see it in his eyes that he was a bit too much like Johnny. But at least Johnny knew he could only push so far before he came against the wall. John never had resistance. Because you and confrontation? Pft. This is the most you've fought in years, and I can already see ya want to run out the door. You can't even stand to fight with a man that don't got that much time left in 'im."

"I love John!" She insisted. "He is the love of my life! And I'm tired, of... of hearing..."

"Yeah, heard that before. So has Greg. So much so, that now when he hears the phrase it makes him roll his eyes. You love John MORE than Greg, is what it translates to. Sometimes, you can love someone, and still have to walk away. You didn't. You picked John over Greg... and that boy grew up knowing it. How you think that made him feel? Sure you applauded his grades and that he went to medical school... but when push came to shove? You never backed your words, woman." Lee lectured. "And still Greg loves you. Imagine that."

"And what did you do?" She asked. Chase could hear the tears and anger in her shaking voice. She was deflecting now. Trying to put it back on the other man. Make him go on the defense.

"I listened." He bit out, the words hard as rocks.

There was the rustle of fabric and Chase kept still. Breathing evenly, listening, waiting. The door shut softly, and he continued to wait. Blythe had finally fled the confrontation.

He heard a long drawn out sigh and the mutter of the old man as he stood up and fussed around the room. Chase felt someone move his blanket, pulling it up high onto his shoulders. Tucking him in.

"I shoulda done more..." Lee muttered to himself as he moved from Chase's side. From the placement of his voice in the room, Chase figured he was somewhere between the two beds.

Peeking under one lid, and turning his head as though in sleep... he saw the old man now in the chair Blythe had left, head bowed over his clasped hands.

House continued to sleep, and soon... so did Chase, but not before wishing he'd fallen asleep an hour before. Their lives were not just meshed, but now knotted and tangled.

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	62. Chapter 62

The nurses came in to check House's condition often through the night. They tried to be quiet, but it still woke Chase when they came in. He didn't mind, because he's was far more aware than he had been in days, and he wanted to know House's condition too. It also took his mind off his own growing discomfort, but mostly, he was just worried about House.

The amount of hair that was shaved was foreboding in his mind. There was rarely a reason to shave it all off, unless they had... he made himself stop thinking about it.

Sometime in the night, Lee had left, probably for House's apartment. He remembered again, that he'd called someone during the aftermath of the fight, and once more wondered who the hell Lee called.

But, at the moment, it didn't really matter because it was about five in the morning and House was really becoming 'aware' once again of the world around him.

And he was obviously not happy according to the scowl on his face.

"Where, is my hair?" He demanded grumpily as he bleary gaze tried to look around the room. One hand was on his head, the other in his lap.

Chase rolled his lips inward and then pressed down on them, so that they nearly didn't show as he contemplated how to answer that. "Um... they... shaved it. To... do the surgery. Relieve the pressure..."

"Why did they shave ALL OF IT?" House demanded, and then winced slightly as his head hurt with the noise of his own yell. Both hands were on his head at that point, as though he could hold his head together before it would fly apart, or perhaps to block out the noise trying to invade.

"Uh... I wasn't there." Chase held up his hands in surrender. "But I think... Probably... Foreman." He admitted, trying his damnedest not to smile or look the least bit amused. Because someone sure as hell got clip-happy and took it all off. They'd even shaved his face!

It wasn't that it was funny per se. Because he'd spent a good portion of the last day worried about the other man. But it was just that, after all that, House was upset about his hair more than anything else. And he was no longer worried that it had a deeper significance. It was just someone getting 'even' with House.

"It'll grow back." Chase quickly assured. "Promise!"

House growled to himself on the other bed, sulking. He'd crossed his arms over his chest, and was frowning at the wall on the other side of the room. A giant petulant five year old that was 'grounded' to his bed. "What have I missed so far?"

"Walker Texas Ranger. It's still really early in the morning. So no soap operas I know about. Your mother was here for a while, so was your Uncle Lee, Wilson had to go do something with a patient. And then I fell asleep." He ended his report there. Then as an afterthought said. "I don't know when they left. I was already asleep before your first neuro-check."

"Heard anything else?" Still House questioned, probably suspecting the edit to his account. He wouldn't turn to look at Chase, so Chase couldn't look directly in his eyes. But he had a feeling that he was trying to find more information, or find out how much Chase actually knew.

"Not... really." Chase said carefully. He was once more in the minefield of conversation. "Nothing that would really tell you anything." He finally settled on. He shrugged a little bit and shook his head.

"In fact, I've had a hard time finding out anything about what was going on. I kept buzzing the nurses, and no one knew anything. No one came to tell me anything, at least until Turner showed up, after your surgery." Chase bitched. "I had half a mind to steal a wheelchair and go looking for people!"

"Cuddy would have clamped down on all information. Wanting to protect the hospital from bad PR." House offered by way of explanation. He put his hands back up to his forehead. A bandage covered the cut over his eye, as well as where they had drilled a hole in his head. "My head is killing me."

"And your leg?" Chase asked, curious if the gating mechanism was at least working in that favor. At this point, for himself, the hip and back were on equal terms with one another. Neither out paining the other.

"Bitching, but quieter than my head." He admitted, raising the head of the bed further with a touch of a button.

There were hundreds of questions that Chase wanted to ask of House. But none of them passed his lips as he looked over at House. Instead, he tried to check his condition as best he could from a distance. Observation.

"Stop that." House told him without turning to look at him. Still watching the far wall.

"What?" Chase asked, not sure what he was talking about. Though, he had a feeling...

"Stop staring. You're starting to freak me out." House turned his head and leaned back a little, as though to get away. "Or at least blink! It's weird!"

"I was blinking." He smiled slightly, but did finally look away. He laced his hands together in his lap and looked at them instead. "If I ask you how you feel other than the headache, are you going to bite my head off?"

"I have the world's worst headache. That... pretty much sums up life at the moment." House said, closing his eyes. He rubbed his eyes with his fingers and was silent. The man would probably fall asleep again, despite the headache. He looked wretched. Too thin. Too tired. Dark circles under his eyes, with a too pale face. He was staring again, and knew it, but he was having a hard time looking away. He found he preferred the stubble look to the clean shaven one. He wasn't sure why, really. Maybe it was what he was used to?

Chase didn't think he'd appreciate too much of a show of emotion, or expressing of concern, nor would he like it if Chase made the headache worse. Chase kept pressing his lips together to block the flow of words that wanted to spill out.

It was still early, but he'd gone to sleep last night without remembering to eat his fine meal of nothing but liquids. He wasn't really tired, so he just kept tabs on House from his bed across the room. He quietly did his arm stretches and the exercises that he was already cleared for, and then he looked at his crossword puzzles while House drifted back off to sleep. Eventually, Chase also managed to force himself to go back to sleep as well.

A couple of hours later, it was breakfast. But, he wasn't given any, because he was going to have the Thallium scan today. They gave them each their morning pain pills, as well as all the other by mouth medications that they were expected to take, and finally, it was time for doctors to make their rounds.

Wilson came into a silent room, and Chase offered a small smile. The bruise had blossomed into a wonderful combination of purple and red, and looked painful. It was out of place on the doctor. A sharp contrast to the suit he was wearing under his white lab coat.

Wilson looked around nervously and then cleared his throat while his hands fiddled with the file in his hands. Chase could see it from his point of view. Everyone knew that House was a private man at heart. And that he also tended to downplay, ignore, or avoid anything that had to do with his own health, condition, or private life. It was his business, and no one else's. If someone tried to question too deeply, he lied and/or made a joke about it till you dropped it.

"The official story is, you pissed off the father of a patient, and he went off on you. This of course, surprises no one. No one has even thought twice about it! They all found it very easy to believe, considering your past history of pissing off the family of patients. Even the way you had phrased your parting shot in the hallway could be seen as a snarky sarcastic response. Cuddy has been keeping careful and tight control on the flow of information. No one was allowed to know anything about your case, that she didn't release herself. That's why you couldn't find anything out, Chase. I'm sorry about that. I intended to come tell you what was going on, but... it... got messy." That was the same phrase he'd used last night, he also winced again as he said it. He looked uncomfortable, and Chase wondered what kind of fight had broken out in the surgical waiting room.

House was silent during the explanation given by Wilson, not looking up at either of them. Finally, he nodded as though 'go on'. His hands were in his lap, and his eyes seemed to be trained solely on them.

Wilson let out a slow breath. "All in all, you're doing well. Despite the initial complication of your concussion, it's gone very smoothly since then. We'll want to do some more scans, to make sure everything is healing right, of course. But you're doing very well. You'll probably be out of here pretty soon. Of course, we'll want to watch you for any delayed symptoms or difficulties. And you won't want to move too fast, or bang your head again any time soon. But I doubted you planned to do such. And... I didn't shave your head, before you decide to beat me with one of my own arms, or something."

Chase didn't miss the twitch of his lips, or the look to the side that spoke of some amusement at that aspect. Someone out there, had gotten some kind of 'revenge' on House. The question of course was, who did it?

"I knew I shouldn't have listed you as my doctor. Now I really DO look like one of your patients." House bitched.

"For Chase? You'll be out of here soon as well. Today you are scheduled for the thallium scan. As you know, you'll be injected to simulate exercise, to see how your heart responds to it. Then, after about another week, we'll give you another bone density scan, and you'll be able to start rehab in earnest! Your muscle weakness is reversing, so you'll be able to do much more. We're going to try to time both of your releases to be 'together'. Sooo, all goes well? You'll be here about two more days."

House spoke up at this point, almost sounding like his normal self. "I'll get you a really cool walker." He promised. "I saw one at the shop I get my canes. It has a horn on it, and a windshield!"

Chase smiled at him and chuckled quietly. "Thanks! Yes, because, you know I'll be going pretty fast... and it'll be useful for when you're in the way of the bathroom."

"Foot traffic has the right of way." House told him, smiling slightly.

"Now, now you two... I believe that walkers have the right of way over canes. But canes have the right of way over bi-peds. Wheelchair trumps all, because they can run over everyone, and it isn't worth the damage when they ram you." Wilson told them in a reasonable voice. "Speaking of which, Chase, we're going to have you sitting in a chair today, as well as a wheelchair when you go for your test. I'll have RJ come and assist. You get to eat out of bed today for lunch!"

"Joy." Chase faked a cheer, putting his hands up and waving them. "Woohoo!"

"Do I get fed?" House asked, frowning. His arms were crossed over his chest again, and he was giving Wilson a sour look. "Or am I to be starved? Wasting away to nothing here!"

"Are you nauseous?" Wilson asked carefully, raising his brows.

"No." House raised his chin and glared at Wilson. "All I have, is the headache from hell! And I've had worse hangovers than this!"

Chase had a feeling that was a bit of an exaggeration on House's part because the man's hands shook whenever he would lift them from his lap, and he kept swallowing convulsively at times. He was still very pale, and he looked like he was in pain, even with the pain pills.

"Then you can eat!" Wilson assured with a heavy sigh, knowing that House was lying a little to get his way. But House was stubborn and sometimes you just had to let him get his way and choose your battles carefully. If he vomited, he vomited. "Just... use caution."

House then gestured in front of him in a 'uh where is it?' gesture. "I seem to be lacking in food here."

Wilson rolled his eyes and then gave him a rueful smile. Of course. "Yes, my liege. I'll go to the cafeteria and fetch you something befitting your status!" He gave a fake bow.

"You may now depart to do so." House said in a lilting voice, befitting of royalty and madmen, before waving his hand in a circle.

Shaking his head, Wilson snorted in amusement and went to get House 'decent' food. Chase figured he'd probably get him something that would be light on the stomach, as well.

Once again, they were left alone together. The silence was both comfortable and awkward. He could still feel a heavy... 'emotion' that he couldn't put a name to, hanging in the air.

He did not miss the fact that House had not asked about the fate of his father, or where his mother was. Nor did he miss the fact that Wilson had said nothing about it either, and steered the topic to other subjects.

Chase wanted to know these things, but... but was it worth House's discomfort over it? This wasn't the time to satisfy his curiosity. No matter if it was bothering him. He wanted them to throw the book at John House. It didn't matter to Chase if the man was 'nearly seventy' or not. House had held his own, until his head was shoved against the wall. And that would hurt anyone, no matter their age or strength.

House had his eyes closed again, and Chase frowned. He knew the man wasn't really asleep, despite the pain pills. There was too much tension around the eyes and mouth. But he wasn't going to mention it. House also didn't want to talk about anything. But Chase had to say something, anything. He finally cleared his throat and quietly said. "I'm glad you're all right."

"I'm fine." House told him, just as quietly, eyes still closed.

"Yes, you're a tough... old bastard." He finally settled on with a smile, seeing if House would respond to that. He bit his lower lip and told himself to be quiet now.

House opened an eye and then smiled slightly tilting his head just enough to glance at Chase. "Damn right."

"You know what we need?" Chase asked, looking back over at House after a moment. He was finding it very difficult not to talk right now.

"What?" House asked, eyes closed once more. The word had been nearly bitten out in that manner that said 'would you shut up' without saying it.

"Weeeee... need... A nice quiet weekend..." He started carefully, cautiously. "With no medical emergencies. No excitement. Just the DVD player, your collection of crack-enabled-whole seasons of various shows. You in your recliner, me on the couch, and Steve sitting on the coffee table."

House was silent for a few minutes and then said. "I can find no fault in this plan. Don't suppose either of us will be up to hookers or strippers?"

Chase pretended to think. "Nooooot yet." He finally said, drawing the words out thoughtfully. "Speaking of which..."

He almost asked who Lee might have called during the 'crisis' but then trailed off figuring it would just cause House to clam up or feel worse. This was very difficult. Just needed to get a handle on the need to talk to House so much. Chase thought maybe it was because he'd spent so much time worrying the day before, that he was wanting to convince himself that House was all right.

"What?" House asked, though. He was curious by nature. He wasn't able to resist asking what it was that Chase had been thinking about.

"Do you get the playboy channel or Spice? Or any of those other porno channels?" He asked, coming up with the question as quickly as he could to fill in the original. "Because if you do? It's probably been trained to that channel for the last couple of days."

House looked at him and then silently laughed. "Yeah. I imagine it has been! The old man is probably using the hell out of the recorder!"

Chase laughed quietly in return, grinning until RJ came in, wheelchair in front of him. Then Chase's face fell and he winced.

"Aw no no no... right now?" Chase asked, a little worried about the stress test. He'd given plenty of stress tests over the last few years for the Diagnostic department, but he'd never been on the receiving end. There were more than a few times, when the patient's heart hadn't been able to take much and it had been turned into a true emergency situation.

"Fraid so." RJ said gently, disconnecting the last IV, but leaving the port in his hand. Then he helped him get off the bed and take the two steps to the chair.

"Hey, progress..." Chase looked over at House, as he was able to stand a moment on his left leg before it decided to hate him again and start shaking. By then though, he was ready to sit in the wheelchair. He still looked pretty pleased with himself though, and House gave him a smile in return.

A nurse peeked around the door and called to RJ, wiggling her finger at him. Chase had the amusement of watching the other man gape like a fish, babble, and then stumble his way out the door to go talk to her. Ahhhhh, yes... the nurse he was all hung up on. RJ was in way over his head.

"What the hell was that about?" House asked, looking to the door. "Is it neurological?" He seemed interested in it as a possible case, by the gleam in his eye.

"Nooooo, RJ has the world's biggest crush on her. But he's so shy when it comes to girls." Chase laughed quietly. "Well, at least, that girl. It's like watching Jerry Lewis in one of those old movies. I've already come to a diagnosis. He has Dorkoma. I fear it is a terminal case. He'll probably never recover."

House nodded gravely. "If they aren't cured by adulthood, they generally are faced with a life of self-gratification."

In the wheelchair, Chase moved himself nearer to House and looked up at him. "I'd take you for a spin in my new wheels, but I don't think I'm licensed just yet." He told him in lieu of anything else to really say. He reached out and just... he almost touched him, and then let his hand drop back down before House opened his eyes.

House looked over at him, and then gave him a faint smile. "Next time." He told him as he closed his eyes again and relaxed into the pillow behind his head. The pain pills were finally doing their job and the tension lines were smoothing out of his face. Eyes closed and relaxed, House looked just a bit younger. More innocent.

As RJ returned, Chase reached out and gently drew his fingers over the back of House's hand. "Next time." He told him in agreement softly, already removing his hand and putting it into his lap before House could open his eyes again and look at him.

RJ pushed him out, leaving House to wonder if Chase had really touched him or not.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

There was something disconcerting about having the crash cart already beside the bed in the room. Prepared in case he really did have another heart attack or any other problems. Eileen was the one that was going to administer it, and for the first few minutes she read the file on him. There were a couple of other people in the room with them, making themselves busy with different machines, but staying out of the way for the most part. He would have to be scanned, before, during, and after the simulated exercise. They injected a small amount of radioactive material into him, and then started the scan. It would give them the baseline.

"Where is Turner today?" Chase asked, trying to distract himself from the medications and other things that looked ominous on the cart. He still wanted to punch the man, but he'd half figured that Turner would be here today. The man seemed to have a sadistic side, after all. He still couldn't figure the man out. He'd do something that could almost be 'nice', but he was such a bastard about doing it, that you didn't care that it was nice and still wanted to knock the hell out of him.

"He... is..." She paused, tilting her head and then looking at Chase with a small confused frown that slowly became a wry smile. "It was very odd, really. A Dr. Cameron appeared this morning, grabbed him by the arm, looping hers through his, and then dragged him out of our office. He, of course, protested most loudly. Using a variety of colorful language. But she merely continued to pull him down to the cafeteria, despite the looks they garnered. She completely ignored everything he was screeching, and talked about how pretty the day was promising to be. I followed them down, not to help him, mind you. But because I was very curious. That, and I was amused as hell!"

Chase bit his lip hard, to keep from smiling and instead nodded for her to continue. "His great Uncle was already down there, sitting at a table, and waved them over. They each sat on either side of Tom, and then hooked their arms through each of Tom's while Lee whispered something to him. Tom quit complaining or yelling and sat with them. He was sullen, sulky, and pissed off. But he was quiet and never moved from that point on. Dr. Cameron seemed to hold most of the conversation, chatting with Lee. She also, never released his arm. It was rather... interesting... because I've only known one other person that ever did that. That was the last I saw of him. He was still eating with them, when I came back up here to run your test."

"Sooooo... she... grabbed his arm... like Eve used to?" He asked, smiling slightly. Silently, he thought to himself that Tom didn't stand a chance. He also wondered what it was that Lee had planned for Turner. Whatever it was, he was working with Cameron at this point.

"Indeed." She gave him an amused look then frowned and tilted her head to look at him closer. "Lee told you about Eve?"

"No, House did... er... Greg. But it sounds like Lee is... uh..." He sucked on his lower lip trying to figure out what to say. He didn't really want anyone to realize his own involvement in the situation.

"Working together with Dr. Cameron to work on Turner?" She offered, raising her brows. "Do you think that perhaps Dr. Cameron is interested in Turner? She smiled at him, quite a bit. Despite his scowling."

"Um, could be." He tried to look innocent, looking at the cart this time with feigned interest. "She likes to... she likes the hard cases. Nothing easy interests her much."

"He told me, yesterday, that you accused him of being depressed." She told him in a conspiratorial tone, leaning forward so that the others couldn't hear them as clearly. "He threw a clipboard."

"I did." He acknowledged as she started hooking various monitoring devices to his flesh. He smiled slightly, to realize that he'd provoked some kind of response out of Turner, even if he didn't get to see it.

"I think you're right. I've thought that for years. But it was nice to hear someone else say it." She admitted once more smiling. Then she leaned in and told him in a low whisper. "Hearing someone else say it, gave me more confidence in my amateur diagnosis. I'm a cardiologist, not a psychiatrist. But, yes, I do believe he's technically depressed, and has been for years. Which is why, this morning... I crushed up an anti-depressant in his morning coffee."

He slowly smiled and then chuckled. "It'll take a while to build up in his system. You'll have to make sure he gets the coffee, even on the weekends."

"That's where, I'm hoping, Dr. Cameron can come in." She smiled slightly and looked hopeful. He smiled in return and considered how best to talk Allison into going along with the dosing plan.

He was still smiling even as the test began. Of course, it didn't last long as he felt his heart pumping harder and harder. It ended before he could actually go into another episode or attack, but it felt like a near thing, and he'd felt panic in the last minutes of the test. His chest hurt and he was shaking. He was sweating and breathing hard. His heart had developed an abnormal beat toward the end, which Eileen 'fixed' quickly as she could. She frowned and shook her head to herself as she looked at the various results. "They must be analyzed further." She told him.

"That bad?" He asked.

"I've seen worse." She told him before calling for RJ.

RJ didn't come back for him, until his pulse and heart beat had once more stabilized. By that point, Chase found his voice to be almost soothing and comforting. Talking about nothing important that Chase didn't have to respond to, reminded him that he was all right, alive, and that he was going to BE all right.

It was as though he'd run a few miles, even though he'd not left the gurney. He never realized what exactly he was putting a patient through. Logically, he knew. But it wasn't the same as actually going through it himself! He was still tired, exhausted and sweaty when RJ had returned him to the room. Sitting him in the chair, he pulled the curtain and helped sponge him down before pulling it back after he was given a fresh gown. The catheter was removed, and he was free and unfettered! He'd still need help to the bathroom, but he was one more step closer to getting the hell out of here.

House was sitting up in bed, looking at something in a file. A half filled jello container was in front of him, as was a cup of coffee. Most people would have been still 'out of it', but he was already trying to entertain his brain. Headache and head injury or not. The man couldn't stand to be bored.

"Diiiid they actually give you a case?" Chase asked, furrowing his brow once they were left alone. He couldn't imagine anyone giving a man with a head injury and iffy mental capabilities a case to work on!

"No. I stole this one while you were gone." House told him with a small shrug, completely unconcerned.

"You got out of bed..." Chase said slowly and then closed his eyes. "You could have fallen."

"Could have. Didn't!" He said brightly, then winced a little at his own voice level. "Used the IV pole for a crutch. The only danger I was in, was giving someone a show if my gown fell open. And I don't give free shows to just anyone. I expect top dollar!"

His chair was pretty close to House's bed. So he leaned on the armrest, trying to look at the file from his vantage point. "You're supposed to have bedrest for twenty-four hours. At least!" He reminded him.

"Eh, time is subjective. Should we really restrain ourselves to the cruel shackles of the clock?" House asked him.

"You're practicing that line for getting out of Clinic duty, aren't you?" Chase asked with a slight smile.

"Yeah." House nodded just a little. He was still showing deference to the pain that lurked in his head. "Do I have it right yet?"

"Needs a little bit more work." Chase held his fingers together about an inch apart, grinning. "Almost there."

"Did youuuu... touch my hand before leaving earlier?" House asked, still looking at the file. He turned a page and looked at the new page with all his concentration. But Chase had a feeling he was watching him out of the corner of his eye.

"You held my hand first, the other day." Chase said quickly, crossing his arms over his chest and raising his chin defiantly. "You started it!"

House looked at him with amusement, putting the file down in his lap. "Think I'm going to mock you or take your head off?"

"That's... always a possibility." Chase told him with a nod and the slightest bit of a smile.

"And you'd be right." House smirked. "But you're also right, that I started it. But... ehhhhhhh yeah I'm still going to mock you. I gotta be me!"

Chase rubbed his hand along the brace on his upper leg and thought carefully about what he was going to say or ask next.

"What? Just... ask already and get it over with. I can hear the hamster in your head turning the wheel from here. It's squeaking. Giving me a bigger headache." House told him. "So just, get it over with. Ask whatever it is that is causing you to give me those weird looks."

Well, that was as good an opening as he was going to get. What DID he want to ask? What was pressing on his mind most at the moment?

"Do you like me? I mean, like-like. Like... um... more than... before?" Well, that was very twelve year old! He should have just had Wilson pass him a note with two boxes saying yes or no, check one! It also wasn't what he was originally going to ask. But it is what came out first.

House raised his brows, looking away from the file in complete surprise. "That, is completely, not what I expected you to ask."

Chase just kind of shrugged and offered a weak smile. "I'm just full of surprises sometimes."

"I... called you my friend, didn't I? I thought that sort of implied liking involved." House said carefully, once more picking up the file and looking at it.

Chase nodded and figured that was a good enough answer as he was going to get. Besides, he felt rather foolish at the moment, anyway. He'd read too much into everything. House was just being a friend. Not to mention, if asked, he'd have said the same thing! Well, probably. He sighed to himself.

"Well... Um... I'm glad." Chase said awkwardly as he nodded. "Just... wanted to make sure. What case are you looking at?" He desperately wanted to change the subject right about now.

"Just something that was earmarked for Diagnostics. Wilson always uses this sticker to mark something that he thinks might interest me, or that he's concerned about. It was at the nurses' station." He explained. "I like you. Yes." He added at the end.

"I somehow doubt he was going to bring this down to you today." Chase pointed out. He almost missed the last part and quickly looked up at House. "Really?"

"Yes, well, I'll surprise him later by looking into it now and solving it before... and yeah. But can't really do anything until..."

He didn't get much further than that when the door opened and someone peeked around the edge. House looked up and Chase could see his expression go from curious to slightly pained and then slip into something that was kin to doomed acceptance.

"There's my favorite nephew!" The woman with the bottle-blonde hair said as she came all the way through the door. She held her arms out, and Chase immediately noticed all the bracelets on her wrists. They jangled and clang like discordant bells. She also had huge clip on earrings that reminded him of 'little old ladies' from when he was a child.

She wore large glasses, and was probably somewhere around House's mother's age. She was a lot heavier though than the rest of the family he'd seen so far. But not what he would refer to as 'overly' large. She looked soft and approachable. The kind of grandmother type he'd seen all over the place in peds, with the 'perfect' lap to sit in. Her clothing was comfortable and loose and she wore tennis shoes. Her make up was a bit too heavy, but it wasn't the first time he'd seen that kind of thing before. Trying to look younger than they really were.

The woman wrapped House in a huge hug and made an 'aw' sound as she did so. "My poor little Greg." She cooed, patting his back. "What did he DO to you?" She asked, cupping her hands on the squirming man's face as she pulled back. And House was definitely squirming.

"It's nothing." House said, awkwardly, putting his hands up as though to ward her off.

"Nothing? It is too! Look at you! You have an ouchie on your head here, and there... oh, look at my poor little Greg!" She hugged him again and House looked like he desperately wanted to wiggle out of her arms and run screaming down the hall. His eyes were wide, and he had one arm reaching out to Chase. 'Help meeeeee!' he could almost hear in his head.

"Aunt Sarah, I can't breathe..." He gasped after a few more seconds of the hug from hell, grabbing her arms and trying to detach her physically.

Chase had covered his mouth with the back of his fingers, trying to smother down the smile that just would not stop forming. He braced himself in the chair with his other hand and tried to look away, but it was too funny to him.

She released him and gave him a kiss on the cheek before pulling back. "I would have been here sooner, but the traffic from the airport was... oh, you don't even want to know! But as soon as Uncle Lee called me yesterday? I dropped everythiiiiiing and came straight out here! Your Uncle will take care of the house and the cats without me. He'll be fine!"

She leaned forward again and cupped his cheeks once more, pouting sadly at him. House just looked vaguely terrified. "My poor little Greg! I can't believe John did this. No, well, I can... he's always been a turd. A big old smelly turd. He was a bully as a kid, and he's a bully now! But still, who would ever want to hurt you?" She said in a sweet 'baby talk' voice. "How could anyone even think it?"

Chase almost opened his mouth to say something, but House gave him a dirty look, so Chase went back to smiling against his fingers. Oh, just about everyone that had ever met House as an adult? He thought to himself. He snorted quietly, once more trying to look away, but it was something like watching a train wreck in progress. He just could NOT look away!

"Aunt Sarah, I'm fine. Really." He assured her, trying to pull back and away from her grasping fingers. He grabbed her hands and held them, but Chase could see that really he was just holding them at bay. "I really need to... thank... Uncle Lee for calling you."

Thank, yell at him... either way. Chase snorted into his hand again, and then cleared his throat as though he'd just coughed. He rubbed his chin and pressed his lips together, trying to keep his mouth closed.

"Ohhhh, is this your new friend?" She finally turned her attention to Chase, her hands pressed together as though in prayer. Chase looked over in surprise as she came around the bed and... His eyes widened in stunned shock and a trace of fear as he found himself being hugged too. Hugged within an inch of his LIFE! Damn, she had a grip! No wonder House couldn't get away! He couldn't breathe...

"Gently! Gently!" House called out quickly. "He has a broken back that's healing! I only have TWO friends! Don't kill the new one!"

She let him go as though burned and then hugged him again, this time as though he were made of fine china.

"Oh, you poor little thing!" She said tenderly, stroking his blond hair. Chase looked to House, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do with this woman. "John didn't do it, did he?" She asked worried.

"No, Aunt Sarah." House said tiredly. "It happened a while back. He's just healing at this point."

She sat herself down on the foot of House's bed, and smiled at each of them before asking more seriously. "Okay, what exactly happened yesterday? All Uncle Lee had time to tell me was that John had gone off and hurt you really bad, and that the police were probably coming soon."

"Nothing to really tell." House shook his head a little. "Told dad I didn't want to see him anymore. That if mom wanted to visit, fine. But I was tired of the game of trying to be civil around him. Tired of trying to come up with excuses to avoid him. He didn't like it."

"He's an ass." She stated. "He's always been an ass. He'll always BE an ass." She declared before getting up and hugging House again. House gave a huge put-upon sigh and gave her a sullen glare. Which she ignored.

"What did Blythe have to say?" She asked as she pulled back and gave him a probing look.

House just shook his head and shrugged. "She was upset. Cried. I don't know. I've not really seen her since I woke up."

Chase very carefully looked away and kept his mouth shut. He had a lot he could say about House's mother. But he'd learned long ago that, bad mouthing someone's beloved mother, was not a way to stay on their good side. And if he was going to try to work with things between him and House, he wanted to stay as much on his good side as he could!

"Now, sweetie, I like your mommy, but... there's been times, when I could just strangle her." She said gently.

"Aunt Sarah..." House was starting to sound defensive and she raised her hand in surrender and tilted her head.

"Okay, okay. Just saying, sweetie. I take it she's bailing your dad out today?" She asked, pressing her bright lipsticked lips together.

He shrugged a shoulder and looked back down at the file.

"Mmmhmmm... thought so." Sarah sang softly to herself. "If it was me, I would just leave him in there to rot."

"Aunt Sarah." House said in warning and she once more raised her hand in surrender. "Just saying."

House was quiet, looking at the file, and Sarah made an effort to straighten his blanket a bit. "When do you get out of here?" She asked him.

"Probably in a couple of days." He told her, frowning. "It's only a small hole. I don't know why they shaved me like a bowling ball."

"Now, now, dear... bowling balls don't have hair to shave." She teased gently.

House gave her a brief smile and then looked back down at the file.

"House, where are my files..." Wilson rushed into the room and then paused. "Ahhhh, hello?"

She held her hand out and came forward toward Wilson. "I'm Sarah De Neef. Greg's aunt. Are you his doctor?" She asked.

"Technically." Wilson said carefully, and almost turned it into a question before looking over at House.

House shrugged and sighed. "I didn't call her. Uncle Lee did. This is my other friend, Dr. James Wilson."

"Of course." Wilson said slowly, he was quickly learning as was Chase that House's relatives weren't invited around for a reason!

"Is my nephew going to be all right?" She asked seriously. "I mean, he won't have..." She lowered her voice though it wasn't that quiet. "... brain damage?"

He smiled and looked down, amused. "No, he won't have brain damage. He'll be just fine. They were able to quickly remove the pressure without any complications. I assure you, that Ho-- Greg will be just fine."

She nodded still serious and then asked. "You've been hit. Did John do that to you, too?"

Wilson quickly looked over at House, but the other man was giving no visual clues. So finally, Wilson nodded a small nod. Chase knew only a second before she did it, but as soon as she threw her arms open he couldn't stifle the laugh fast enough.

She had Wilson in a huge bear hug. "Oh, you poor poor man! John is just a bastard!"

Wilson's eyes were huge and he looked toward the others to gauge their expressions and try to figure out what he was supposed to do in response. He'd been hugged by patients and their families before, but never quite like this or under these circumstances. "Um... I'm... all right. Really." He tried to disengage himself gently, but found the same thing that Chase had. She had an iron grip for an old woman!

She let him go and inspected the bruise before finally sitting back on the foot of House's bed. "Do you know if the police are going to come to talk to people today? Or what they plan to do with my brother?"

Wilson opened and closed his mouth a few times before shaking his head. "I... don't know." He finally cleared his throat and stepped over to the bed to snatch the files out of House's hands.

House tried to snatch it back, but Wilson stepped out of range before he could. House crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. Once more, Chase was reminded of the petulant five year old who wasn't getting his way. "I'm bored." House told Wilson.

"Sleep." Wilson countered.

"Not tired." House not quite whined.

"Try anyway."

"No." House refused. "I want my PSP."

Wilson gave a long put-upon sigh, because it was like dealing with a child, and said. "I'll get your PSP for you. But you're not to get out of bed."

"Oh, I plan on staying for a few days!" Sarah said, raising her hand. "I'll make sure he stays put."

House looked horrified, and Chase put his chin down to his chest, laughing.

"Don't laugh. You live with ME, remember." House pointed at Chase who was still chuckling. "Sweeeeetie." He drew the word out like a curse.

"She's not my Auntie, though." Chase looked up, still chuckling.

"You two live together?" She asked, her eyes wide and a small look of disbelief. "Like... live together live together? Like you and Stacy?"

House had a calculating look in his eye, crossed his arms over his chest again and then looked back at Chase then to her. "Maybe... does that bother you?"

She bit her lip, and seemed to be seriously contemplating that. Finally she said. "No!" She hugged House again, nearly suffocating him with her love, before hurrying back over to the other side of the bed, and wrapping her arms around Chase. "WELCOME TO THE FAMILY HONEY!" She fairly yelled in his ear.

House's plan completely backfired, and Chase watched from over Sarah's shoulder as House smacked a hand across his face and groaned. Wilson had turned to the side, laughing and waving his hand to the side as though to clear the air. He weakly turned and used the wall to brace himself as he made his way out, laughing almost too hard to walk.

House kept his face covered and then leaned back, pulling the covers up and muttering something about. "I'm going to sleep..."

"And leave me alone with..." Chase protested, but he was being hugged more and he never felt so doomed before in his life.

"You'll be fine." House told him, underneath the sheet and blanket. "If you start to pass out, grab the oxygen mask." He muttered from under the cloth.

"Coward." Chase muttered before she pulled away beaming at him.

She pulled the other chair up, sitting in front of him and then patted her knees, still smiling. "Now, tell me all about yourself!" She looked happy!

"Not much to tell really." He smiled slightly, leaning against the back of the chair as much as he could with the brace. "I used to work for Ho-- Greg for about three and a half years. My name is Robert Chase. I'm a surgeon and an Intensivist here at the hospital. Annnnd... there's really not much more to tell. Just that I'm originally from Australia!" He half shrugged a little, still not able to move his shoulders too much with the brace on him.

"Oh now, come on, there has to be more to you than that!" She smiled and gave him a sly look.

"No, not really. Just... mostly what you see is what you get!" He denied with a small shake to his head.

"Doooo you have any pets?" She asked, raising her brows.

He could see movement beneath the blankets and sheets, and knew that House wasn't really asleep. He smiled to himself and shook his head. "No, not really. Greg has a rat though! Steve. He's all right! Smart."

"Do you like working here? Or do you miss Australia?" She asked, crossing her legs at the knee and giving him an interested look.

He found himself chuckling. Was he being interviewed? "Ahhhh, yeah. Yes, I like working here. Very much. And no, I don't really miss it that much. I prefer it here."

She nodded and thought for a moment. "Are your parents here in the US?"

He shook his head no. "They've both passed away."

"I'm so sorry." She said heartfelt, hand against her chest.

"No, it's all right. It's... been a while." That was a nice even answer.

She tapped her finger against her knee and smiled. "Any chance of talking you into talking Greg into coming up for Christmas next time? He's always got some excuse!"

He could have sworn that the cough that came out from under the blanket nearby said 'dryturkey'. And he licked his lips and smiled a little, chuckling. He scratched his cheek and said. "Ahhhh... we'll see." He cleared his own throat and pulled the blanket over his legs up higher around his waist.

"Now... how long have you liked my lil'Greg?" She asked primly. "And what are your intentions for him? Are you two using protection?"

The blanket that had covered House's head flipped off and he glared at his aunt. "Aunt Sarah!"

She cackled, covering her face with both hands and leaned back in her chair. "Gotya!"

"Aunt Sarah! Can't you go bother Tommy or Uncle Lee?" House asked. He was smiling slightly despite the look of annoyance that was also on his face. It was probably that whole 'talking about sex' with the older generation thing that got a lot of people. Normally, House was more than willing to bother people by doing just that, but it was probably different with relatives.

"I could, buuuuut... I've not seen you in a while." She smirked at him. She'd been playing them, to a point. "And you're just too much fun to give a hard time to. Don't you worry, Tommy will get his turn at my brand of torture. But for now, I want to visit with youuuuu and... Robert?"

He nodded and smiled slightly.

"Don't you two just look cute together." She said, and for one horrifying moment he was afraid she was going to pinch his cheek.

But she just shook her fists and then held them against her chest with a look of joy on her face. "I'm just so happy for you. I was afraid that after Stacy you'd never find someone you liked again. Of course, this explains sooooo much about why every time John would ask you if you had a new girl in your life, you would say no! But you just have to bring him around this Christmas. I won't invite John this year, if he's already out of jail, that is. Only ever invited them because that was the 'proper' thing to do."

"Aunt Saaaraaaahhhhh..." The warning tone was back in his voice again and she was once more putting her hand up in surrender with a muttered 'just saying'.

Before she could ask any more questions, the door opened and Mrs. House peeked around the corner.

He could have sworn that the temperature dropped about fifty degrees as both women looked at each other. Both put on a polite smile, but there was tension in it.

"Hello, sweetie." Sarah cooed. "How are you holding up?"

"As best I can, under the circumstances." Blythe returned, just as polite. Just as sweet.

Chase was almost certain each woman was grinding their teeth under those false smiles. House looked like he wanted to go back to feigning sleep again. But instead, he squared his shoulders and said. "Down ladies... no fighting. There's no mud here. And the last thing I want is to imagine either of you in a thong." House looked like he was going to throw up for a moment, and then shuddered.

"Now would we do that?" Sarah asked in that sweet tone, eyes wide, hand against her chest again.

"No, worse. You guys are extra nice to each other and then I end up with cavities!" House rolled his eyes up. "It would almost be better if you two would just pull each other's hair and claw the other's eyes."

"Now, Greg. We would never do that." Blythe said pleasantly. "Sarah's hair could never hold up to that kind of treatment... what with the color treatment and all... so brittle."

"And I'd never claw Blythe's eyes out... it would take forever to clean out from under my nails." Sarah said just as nicely.

"I know." House sighed. "Which is why my teeth are aching right now." He made a show of touching his jaw. "And you both are so full of shit, your eyes are turning brown."

"Well, I think I'll go upstairs and visit with Tommy. I have a feeling Uncle Lee is up there right now." She said, standing up and dusting off invisible dust. She leaned down and gave a kiss to Greg's cheek, and then turned and did the same thing to Chase. "If you two need anything, send someone to get me."

She gave one last frosty smile to Blythe and then left the room.

"Hello, dear." Blythe dropped her own chilly smile and leaned over, looking tired as she kissed her son on the cheek. "How are you feeling today?"

"Better." House sighed, straightening the blanket on his legs again.

She sat down, and gave him a sad smile. "I was here last night, but you were pretty out of it."

Chase had to work to control his facial expression. If he acted like he knew what happened last night... House did not want him to know those things. Now was not the time to discuss it. And a fight today would not solve anything.

Mother and son were silent and Chase sighed in the uncomfortable atmosphere.

His chair was still sitting close to the bed, and he found that he was looking more at House than Blythe. It was just easier, and less temptation to growl at her.

"Well, isn't this cozy." House finally said. "Reminds me of visits home, already!"

"Greg." She said weakly, sadly. Looking down at her lap. Greg looked immediately chastened.

Oh, for God's sake! Chase thought with a sigh. Everyone had their Achille's heel. This was apparently House's. His mother. But it wasn't like Chase didn't have mother issues as well as daddy issues as well.

He reached out and after a moment of hesitation took House's hand, squeezing it. "We could talk about something that has nothing to do with the issues?" He suggested. Just wanting to help, somehow.

House looked at the hand holding his, and then back at Chase who was giving him a defiant look in return. Chase mouthed 'you started it', and then smirked a little before House's lips twitched a bit in amusement.

Blythe looked at their hands, shifted uncomfortably and then studiously ignored it at that point.

"Ignoring the issues won't make them go away." House grumbled quietly. Chase was surprised he didn't push his hand away at that point, and then he realized that House was actually pushing his mother a bit. Just... in a subtle way. He'd told Blythe that he'd been with men before, had hinted they were together. He was probably wanting to see what his mother would do now that she was faced with the reality of such a thing.

In a way, Chase was pushing too. Pushing to see what would give first. He squeezed House's hand again, and stroked his thumb over the flesh. Would House fold to his mother's wishes, or stay strong and keep 'this' whatever 'this' was now?

"Did you bail dad out yet?" House finally asked, and it may or may not have been Chase's imagination that he gripped Chase's hand a bit harder before finally letting it go completely and leaning back against his pillow, turning to look at his mother. It was not a dismissal. Merely that he was getting comfortable and it was too much a stretch. The squeeze told him that it was 'all right'.

"The arraignment is in a couple of hours." She finally said, looking down. "There is a policeman that is supposed to come and talk to some more of the people involved." She smoothed her hands down her knees and sighed. "Are you going to speak with him, the policeman?"

Greg shook his head. "I don't really get along too well with the local fuzz."

She seemed relieved and Chase pressed his lips together to keep anything from falling out of his mouth.

"That's an understatement." A voice came from the door. It had been opened so quietly, that none of them had noticed.

"Isn't it a conflict of interest for you to be working this case?" House asked in a tight voice. He was immediately tense and the fight or flight instinct raced through Chase to hear that tone in House's voice.

Chase straightened up and nearly jump to his feet as Tritter came further into the room. Though, if he had done so, they would not have held.

"Not really. I'm not here for you. I'm just investigating your father." Tritter had his hands in his pockets, looking completely relaxed. "Now, isn't this interesting..." He said looking from the mother to House and then to Chase.

"I don't see what there is to really investigate." Chase said carefully. "John House hit his son after a domestic dispute, and then hit two other doctors. I find it surprising that you would be sent to investigate something that is pretty cut and dried. I was under the impression that you took different kinds of cases."

Drug oriented crimes. Or, was that just revenge motivated at the time?

"You'd be surprised what there is to investigate, even in a domestic abuse case." Tritter said, and then amended with a half smile. "I mean... dispute... case. Not to mention, as the arresting officer, I'm required to come talk to House."

"You recognized the name House during the initial call and just had to look into it, you mean." House accused. "I guess things are slow at the cop shop if you're all the way out here on something so petty."

Chase took a deep breath and let it out slowly, wanting to tell House to not set the cop off again. The last thing they needed was a repeat of the year before. He put his hand on the bedrail, tightening his hand on it as he did so.

Tritter smiled slightly and stepped closer. "Have a few questions for you."

"I have nothing to say." House crossed his arms over his chest.

Tritter tilted his head. "Typical, really. I should have realized you were a product of abuse. All the signs were there, of course. Not that it clears you of your own actions in life, but it does explain a lot. And, it doesn't matter if you tell me any details. Charges will be filed, at my discretion. It was a mandatory arrest since he inflicted injuries upon you and others. And I've put in for a temporary restraining order against your father. The judge already granted it last night after I put in a phone call. Your father will have a hearing soon, and while at the hearing... I'm just trying to decide if I shouldn't actually apply for a restraining order against your mother as well. I am doing this strictly by the book."

That way, no one could say that he'd done it for revenge purposes. He was crossing all his T's and dotting all his I's.

House glared up at him and Blythe stood up, trying to be 'brave' in front of the detective. "Sir, I fear you have the wrong idea about our family... what could you possibly... why would I... he's my SON!"

"No. I don't think I do." Tritter informed her in the same even tone. "I've seen a lot of this kind of thing. The stories never change. The defenses... all the same. Only the small details change. Age. Gender. That kind of thing. But, I know more than you think. Also, as a person with a 'disability', House is entitled to certain... hmmm rights... and protections. If you have failed to protect him from harm by some sort of... omission or neglect on your part? I could possibly arrange a no-contact order."

Chase pressed his lips together and watched as House glared at Tritter. "You won't pull that one off." House predicted.

Blythe was ruffled, trying to keep herself together. She honestly did not like having to deal with confrontation. John House was her shield. She stood behind him, and he did all the talking. She wasn't used to facing all this head on.

"Now..." Tritter reached into his pocket and took out a notebook. "Did you have any reason to believe that Mr. House was going to become violent prior to the moment he did so? Had he been perhaps drinking?"

House didn't answer, and instead stared sullenly at the lap table in front of him at the foot of the bed.

Tritter gave a low chuckle and shook his head before turning to the woman. "And you, Mrs. House?"

"Of course not." She said, not looking him in the eye. "He's not abusive!" She insisted.

Tritter rolled his eyes, almost as though in amusement before turning to Chase. "And you?"

Chase snorted and widened his eyes a second before saying. "Don't ask me, today is the first day I've been allowed to sit in a chair! I've spent most of the time recently drugged to the gills for pain, or trying to avoid dying." He shook his head, looking down at the floor at a distance, the back of his fingers once more against his lips as he sighed.

"Really, and... just what caused your accident there? I can see there is a brace of some sort on your back? Is it? How did that happen?" Tritter asked in that annoying 'go ahead and tell me, I already know anyway' voice of his.

"I have a kind of food intolerance. Autoimmune. Irritation to my intestines made it so that I wasn't absorbing Vitamin D and Calcium for quite a while, and then my bones became too soft. Due to prior injuries growing up from car wrecks and falling and such, they started becoming compression fractures and when I finally fell down a few months ago, I broke something. The swelling hid the fracture from the normal scans, and we didn't discover it was truly fractured until House and Wilson did a contrast LP with the MRI. I've since had surgery, a heart attack, an Arrhythmia, annnnd an accidental break in my hip when they needed a bone biopsy to rule out cancer. That is always a risk with bone biopsy, and thanks to soft bones... it happened."

Tritter didn't write anything down, and instead just stared at him. "This of course would be all in the medical records?"

Chase wanted to roll his eyes and nodded. "But they are confidential. But yes, they are all there. House didn't beat me if that is what you're leading up to."

"But he did hit you once?" Tritter asked, already knowing the answer. "Abuse victims often become abusers later in life."

"A year ago. You know that." Chase sighed. "One time. Ever. And he didn't even mean it at the time. It was a response to me pushing him. More than once."

"When he was detoxing. Because, of his addiction." Tritter pushed the issue, and Chase wanted to say something more, but just shook his head and looked away. To say too much just gave the man ammunition. But he also couldn't just leave it there, either.

"He did not hurt me. I fell down, and then I ignored medical advice from everyone, making it worse. I was being stubborn and bullheaded. I was dating and living with Allison Cameron at the time, if I was being beaten, hit, or otherwise abused? She would surely have noticed it." Chase told him, looking bored. "Not to mention? I was not cheating on her."

"You two have since broken up though, right? Annnnd now... now you're in a relationship with your former boss, House?" Tritter asked. "You're also living with him, at this point?" He pointed from one to the other with his pen, that annoying little smirk in place. He'd clearly already been asking people questions.

Chase looked at House and House looked back at Chase. "What does that matter if it was or was not true?" House asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Well, see, that's the thing. Your father had some very colorful things to say, when he was first arrested. Since I'm the arresting officer, I recorded them for the charge and... there are laws about what could be considered a Hate Crime, that are different from a simple Domestic Dispute. Not to mention, there was assault on two other doctors here." He explained. "And your head injury could almost be called 'attempted murder'."

"That's ridiculous!" Blythe gasped. She looked horrified, about to cry.

"So you're trying to discover if he attacked House because... of..." Chase let it dangle and narrowed his eyes then he slowly shook his head. "That's not why."

House gave him a sharp look and Chase looked back shaking his head.

House pressed his lips together and grit out. "I told my father I didn't want to see him anymore. That's all. It wasn't a hate crime beyond him hating what I said."

"And he attacked you, based on that alone?" Tritter asked. "ARE you two together?" He asked.

House was refusing to answer, and if he wasn't answering, Chase didn't think he should either. It was defiance.

Tritter waited a moment and then smiled a small tight smile. "It's already in the records that your addresses are exactly the same."

"Then why ask?" House asked, still defiant, glaring, and spitting mad. "If you must know, we're... together. But, he's been injured the entire time... The... logistics. Just in case you decide to ransack my apartment, again. Which I don't put past you! You'll find two beds there. In the same bedroom. One with a broken back, one with a bad leg? It is better to have separate beds till he's healed."

"To see if you would lie." Tritter gave him a superior look. He closed his notebook and shook his head. "But I see you at least learned that much from last time. I have a few more people to question. I don't think your testimony either way will do much for his case. Too many witnesses and other... victims."

House grumbled silently to himself as Tritter took himself out of the room.

"Why do you always have to be so... rebellious. You just have to push and push and push..." Blythe asked, tearfully. Sniffing to herself. "If you would have just... none of this would be happening." She fairly ran out of the room, leaving the two men alone.

"Well... that went well." Chase sighed.

House gave him a glare and then looked down, his hands balled into fists on top of the blanket.

"You do know it isn't your fault, don't you?" Chase told him.

House pressed his lips together and looked angry. Chase hit the armrest of his chair with his fist. "It isn't. Whether you believe it or not, it isn't."

"I don't want to talk about it." House told him.

Chase tipped his head backward, looking at the ceiling and breathing deeply. "Fair warning. In about five or ten minutes, I'm going to pull myself up there and give you a hug. Because I like you, and you like me, and I'm going to hug you. Actually, pretty sure I more than just 'like' you. So prepare to mock me!"

"You are such a twelve year old." House sighed.

"And you're about eight. I know. I'm trying to rob a cradle here." Chase gave him a level look. "Come on, I'm sure there's some more sarcasm and mockery in there somewhere. Lay it on!"

"I'm not going to send you love notes during class. Warning you, right now." House told him, scowling in the other direction. "Way I figure it? Damage is all done. Might as well commit the crimes that goes with it!"

"I'll leave them in your locker." Chase returned. "True. Can I carry your books after school?"

"Yes, and walk me to class! You can have my letter jacket, but I'm not letting you have my class ring." House sniffed, looking at him from the side. "I like it too much."

"Just as long as you take me to the prom instead of Wilson." Chase crossed his arms over his chest.

"I already told Wilson I was taking you, and not him." House snorted in wry amusement.

"Well then it is settled." Chase nodded. "What did we settle, exactly?"

"That we're seeing each other. Which is really about all we can do, considering I have a head injury and you have more hardware than Robocop at the moment. Not to mention you still have what? Three weeks before your heart will be up to something like that?" House rolled his eyes. "Also? We're in the hospital and can't even watch a movie or have popcorn."

"Weeeee... could do hand puppets?" Chase held his hands up and made a dog out of his hands.

"My dating life has hit a new all time low." House intoned.

"Mmm, not yet. Just wait till we're home and you have to help me to the bathroom!" Chase smiled slightly.

"I stand corrected." House grimaced and leaned back on his pillow.

Chase watched him a moment and then said. "Scoot over an inch or two."

"What?" House asked.

"Scoot... just a bit to the left." Chase put both hands on the railing and carefully pulled himself up. It was almost something he regretted when he nearly lost his footing and went down. But with a quick turn and shuffle, he managed to sit with his backside on House's bed. House got the idea and started to scoot as well to the side.

"You've lost a lot of weight." House commented as Chase managed to shift himself so that he was sitting beside House on the hospital bed. It was a bit of a tight fit, really, but they managed once House pulled his right leg up and Chase lay toward his left side a bit.

"Yeah, not eating for a few days can do that to you." Chase smiled. "I've still not eaten at all yet. Missed breakfast."

"We'll get lunch, eventually." House turned a bit more on to his left side, and got comfortable, lowering the head of the bed a bit.

"I hope they don't expect me to move for a while." Chase muttered to himself, laying down and getting more comfortable.

He held his hand up for a moment, not sure where to put it but then said hell with it, and let it lay on House's waist, closing his eyes. Leaning further forward, he kissed House's shoulder. House turned his head to look back at him, and then met his eyes. Twisting further back to his right, he leaned into Chase letting their lips brush softly against one another. Chase closed his eyes, not daring to breathe as the kiss continued for a few seconds longer before House turned back once more to lay on his left. His lips were softer than he'd imagined, the skin too smooth due to the shaving. But it still made his heart skip, and the promise of more to come made him take another deep breath.

He lay on his side, his left arm under his head. It wasn't as though they could do anything more than nap. Chase's right arm eventually slipped further around House's waist as he relaxed. A small smile on his lips as he did so. House's fingers slid between his after a few minutes, and there they stayed while they slept.

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	63. Chapter 63

Interlude 11

Wilson had the PSP in one hand and a file for another patient in his other. He'd had to go over the division between his balcony and House's to enter the office where it was kept, simply because after the fight yesterday, Cuddy had locked the door. But only the office door leading to the conference room. He was careful not to touch anything else in the office before climbing the short wall back to his own and making his way to hospital room.

Blythe blew past him and he had opened his mouth to speak, but did not get a chance to call out to her before she was gone. He'd noted she was crying, and wondered if perhaps he shouldn't chase her down, when he saw Tritter lurking down the hallway. Wilson pressed his lips together as he realized he was questioning the nurses on his staff. He hoped that it wouldn't blow the cover story out of the water, and he resolved to remind his staff about the fact that 'what you see here, what you hear here, stays here, when you leave here'. Otherwise, he might have to have some people removed from his department.

Usually the gossip didn't bother him. He even engaged in it. But this was far more damaging than the run of the mill bullshit that usually churned the waters.

He took a deep breath and went ahead to the hospital room, figuring perhaps House could tell him what the hell happened. And if not him, Chase. Besides, he could finally put the stupid little hand-held game system down. He'd opened his mouth as he walked into the room, only for no sound to come out as he took in the sight in front of him.

He slowly closed his mouth, blinking as he quietly put the game on one of the small tables and watched the men sleeping.

Running his tongue over his teeth, he quietly walked further in, coming up beside them on the left side. Both men had right legs that were currently compromised. So they were laying facing the left.

A slow smile spread over his face as his left hand patted down the pocket of his lab coat. He was grinning by the time he pulled out his cell phone and held it up. He took a few shots from one angle, and then slowly made his way around to the other side of the bed. He'd figure out which were the best choices later after sending the photos to himself in the e-mail.

He had forgotten all about Tritter as he was grinning at his cell phone, until he nearly bumped into the man just outside of the door.

Wilson gave a startled little jerk, seeing who was in front of him before reaching back and pulling the door closed.

"I've already been in to visit with them. I have no intention of bothering them again today." Tritter's hands were comfortably on his hips, pushing his jacket a bit backward. Just enough to reveal that he had a badge and that he was armed.

"They're asleep." Wilson said quietly, closing his cell phone and tucking it into his pocket.

"Made a phone call?" Tritter asked, nodding toward the phone.

"Are you going to try to get my phone records?" Wilson asked, raising his brows, tilting his head. "Match them to this precise time? Ammmm I under investigation?"

Tritter chuckled low in his throat, though his face remained in the same smarmy smile he usually took. "Just curious, you could say. I'm investigating only John House, and his wife."

"Then, it really isn't that important, and doesn't pertain to your case." Wilson told him with certainty. "Now, is there a reason you're lurking by House's door? Or..." He let it dangle.

"I've been asking around. Trying to get all the facts before the arraignment hearing soon. Had you met John House prior to your incident with him yesterday?" Tritter asked. He was still chewing gum, but Wilson could smell that it was regular gum and not the same nicotine he'd been chewing last year. He'd beaten his own 'addiction'. There wasn't a trace of cigarette smoke attached to him.

"I have on occasion met with him, yes. In the past. But, not often. It is merely a passing acquaintance. I've known House for many years... in that time I was bound to run across his parents at some point." Wilson walked down the hallway, aware that Tritter would follow, but still hoping he'd go away.

"How did those meetings in the past go?" Tritter asked, keeping pace with him easily.

"Neutral?" Wilson suggested. "I don't know how to describe them. They were... just... hello, nice to meet you, gotta go type of meetings. They live out of state and are always going on trips to different places. They'd only visit during layover from their flights. I can't judge people by brief encounters."

Wilson was trying to get out of being questioned by having no answers. He knew that House hated his dad, but also knew that he tended to play it all close to the vest. He wouldn't appreciate it if Wilson spilled what little he knew. He sometimes wondered if he was completely forgiven for the last time he had betrayed House to Tritter. He would not do it a second time.

"Has Dr. House ever indicated to you a reluctance to visit with his father before? Perhaps tried to avoid one of those visits in the past?" Tritter asked.

Wilson paused, remembering the time that House had tried to return five thousand dollars, just to get out of seeing his father. Avoiding his father, was worth five grand, and probably more. Wilson shrugged and shook his head. "I don't know? Maybe. But I avoid MY mother and father when I can. I'm almost forty, and she still tries to make me eat green beans." He rolled his eyes. "That's not a sign of... something deeper. It's a sign of hating green beans and 'guilt' for not eating them when she's made them."

He was at the nurses' station filling out a file and trying to ignore the other man.

"Did you ever have an indication that he may be considered violent before he struck you?" Tritter asked.

"No. Not really." Wilson shook his head. "I can honestly say, I was pretty damn surprised to get punched yesterday. It wasn't exactly on my schedule. I planned on having lunch, then maybe going for a walk. Perhaps I'd get mugged in the park... but punched on my own floor? No."

"What do you think of Blythe House?" Tritter asked, leaning against the counter of the station.

"I think... she's... a mother? I know she was crying when I saw her go past. I take it you had something to do with that?" Wilson asked, a bit more bite in his voice as he glanced up. "You enjoy frightening senior citizens?"

"A crime is a crime no matter how old the person is." Tritter half shrugged, looking unconcerned. "Should I ignore someone killing another person, or trying to, just because they've lived longer?"

"And you think Blythe House is a criminal?" Wilson asked incredulous.

"I think she has aided and abetted criminal behavior. I think she has been complacent in regards to the crimes of the past. I think she may have even precipitated events in that past." Tritter told him. "I have always been a firm believer in crimes being resolved. No matter how long ago they were performed. Their effects have long lasting consequences and affect the people around them for life. Sometimes, for generations!"

"If I may say so? I think this has less to do with your need to 'right the wrongs' of the past, and more to do with your need to give House a hard time. You couldn't make the drug charges stick, so you're going to torture him by digging around in his past. Despite the fact that even if they beat him with hoses every day and dedicated his immortal soul to Satan every Friday night at seven on the dot... the law would not do anything at this point in time. You can hardly charge them with child abuse, when the 'child' is nearly fifty years old!" Wilson gave him a slightly irritated look.

"No. But... I can set precedence." Tritter smiled slightly. "That abuse existed, and eventually led to the assault here. Perhaps turn the temporary order into a long standing one. Now, wouldn't you prefer to 'protect' your friend from further harm? The man had to have a hole drilled in his head, to release the pressure on his brain and save his life. His father did that to him. What if next time? He had a gun? You do know he has a gun permit?"

"Anything I tell you would be hearsay." Wilson pointed out, shaking his head, and signing a paper for a nurse. He hated to admit that once again, Tritter had a point.

"But it would give me a starting point for an investigation." Tritter returned, trying to give him a charming half smile. It wasn't working. Wilson just shook his head again.

"Mmm, no. I don't think so. Needless to say, I've heard nothing to say to begin with. House doesn't talk about his family. Which... take that as you will." Wilson said. "He attacked House in the hall, we got him out of the line of fire, and then we worked on keeping them apart. He got in a good shot... that's all there is to it. Now, if you'll excuse me? I have work to do." Wilson said in his best 'I'm a doctor and you're not' voice, and walked away, leaving Tritter standing at the nurse's station alone.

Foreman was his next target, and he did not have long to wait when the doctor came around the corner. Heading directly for House's hospital room. He figured the man would visit sometime soon. Doctors were all making their rounds about now, and Foreman would take a special interest in this particular case. Human nature was so predictable.

Foreman saw him and almost turned around. Tritter could see it in the way he sighed, and threw his arms a bit to the side before letting them fall. Not to mention the annoyed look. "What are you doing here?" He asked Tritter.

"I was the arresting officer." Tritter smiled.

"Ooooof course." Foreman said tiredly. "You're here to what? Take a statement? Here it is. John House, for an old man? Has one hell of a right cross. He's also an ass. I see where House got it from. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

"That seems to be a common phrase for the doctors around here." Tritter said with wry amusement.

"Proooobably because..." He paused, wrinkling his brow as though thinking about it. Then nodded. "Because we're doctors and we're treating patients! Now, if we just hung out in hallways all day, harassing people? Thennnn we could call ourselves police officers!"

"You don't have a high opinion of me or my work." Tritter said unnecessarily, tilting his head. "Even if it is to protect your 'patient'? I have reason to believe that John House has not only hurt Dr. House in the past, but could represent a future danger if allowed free."

"I think you're going to use this to get to House. You're wanting to expose and embarrass him, and maybe dig up something you can use against him later." Foreman said honestly. "Now, seriously? I have work to do. I have patients to see."

With that, he turned and went through the door to see House. Tritter looked up at the ceiling in exasperation, hands once more on his hips as he sighed. Once again, stonewalled by the doctors around here. Even when it was in their best interest. Typical.

Foreman only got four steps in when he saw the scene. His brows crept up, trying to escape his forehead. And then he closed his eyes and then opened them again slowly. No, it was still there.

His hand found his cell phone and he smirked as he held it up. Four pictures later, he was leaving the room still smiling. He pointedly ignored Tritter and used the stairs to 'escape'. He'd talk to them later. It could wait.

Tritter checked his watch and frowned. He wasn't getting what he wanted from this. Not really.  
He waited for the elevator, and pushed the floor number he wanted.

Coming out of it, he was confronted with Turner. "Just the man I wanted to see. Thomas Turner? Correct?" He knew it was. He gave a small smile, and drew himself up to tower over the other man.

"Your powers of deduction are amazing. Considering that I'm wearing a name-tag. I'm duly impressed... by the remedial teachers in the public school system. Bravo." Turner told him in a bland voice. "To answer your no doubt mundane and dreary questions. Yes. I'm related. No, I know nothing. No, I didn't see the fight. No, I had no reason to believe John House would lose his mind. And before coming here, I hadn't seen Greg in between eight and ten years. Anything else?" He raised a brow.

Tritter ground his teeth, his eyes hard as he looked at Turner. "May I speak with your staff?" He asked. He reminded himself that he had to keep his temper.

"Yes. But you won't like what they have to say. I have work to do." With that, Turner spun on his heel and took off. The 'unlike some people' hung in the air, in his sudden absence. Tritter was really beginning to hate that phrase.

Eileen looked up as he opened their office door. She raised her brow, tilted her head and said. "No. I didn't know. I had no idea. I've only met him maybe three times in a couple dozen years. Heard no rumors. Don't really care. Not my problem. Anything else?" She spit out rapid fire and then tilted her head further to the side, raising her brows higher as she did so in a 'yeeeeeessss what?' manner. "Beeecause... I have work to do." She gestured at her laptop.

He pressed his lips together, shook his head and then slammed the door, as best he could. Not that it slammed. But the intent was there. She nodded to herself, and went back to her computer game. He turned around and then opened the door again. "Do you know anyone that WOULD know?" He asked. "Because, I am working too! I'm trying to put together a case to keep a dangerous man away from the man he injured and probably tormented as a child."

He knew he sounded irritated. But he was running out of time, and he had to have as much information as possible at his fingertips.

A small trace of a smile graced her lips and then she said. "Seek out a man named Lee House, and his niece Sarah De Neef. They should be in the small restaurant on the corner across from the hospital. They, if anyone, could and would help you. Go get'em tiger." She looked back down at her computer, seemingly more involved with it than him.

He stared at her and then nodded, a trace of a smile coming to HIS lips now. "Thank you."

She merely nodded, and once more returned to her computer game while he left. This time with more energy and a sense of hope. Maybe there were motives there that were not totally pure. He was still angry that House was not forced to take responsibility for his actions. But he also had other reasons that were far more important. He had his own strict moral compass. His own idea of right versus wrong. John House, in his opinion, was the type of criminal that he enjoyed to see go down. Long time abusers who had escaped the law either due to the fear of the family or because they used their position in life to evade it.

As far as Tritter was concerned, Karma eventually catches up with you... and this time? Karma's name was Michael Tritter.

He was almost jogging by the time he hit the outside of the hospital, hurrying to get to the restaurant before he could lose track of his one good lead.

He realized that he had no idea what Lee or Sarah looked like, but he was fully prepared to just make a general announcement no matter how foolish he may look doing so. Opening the door, he scanned the room first. Getting the lay of the land before... but wait... there! He gave a low chuckled, realizing who Lee looked like. Only much much older. He hurried over, watching a second as Sarah talked animatedly about something her granddaughter had done last week.

"...of course my daughter in law was horrified. But I told her, honey? Ain't nothing wrong with it. All kids go through that. You just have to smile, sigh, and remember it's juuuust a stage." She grinned and laughed. "Oh... hello?" She looked up at Tritter.

"Kids are often full of surprises, aren't they?" Tritter smiled a little. "I'm Detective Tritter... I understand you both know a John House?"

He was pleased when both nodded. Sarah huffed and rolled her eyes. "Unfortunately." She crossed her arms over her chest.

The old man though gave him a penetrating look. As though reading his soul. He'd seen that look before, on Greg House's face. Eventually the old man nodded again, having come to some kind of decision. "Whatcha need?"

"I need to know... if either of you ever had the impression that John House may have been violent in the past with his son, or if you believe he may represent a danger in the future to him."

He pulled an empty chair over from another table and sat down between them with his notebook.

"Ayup." Lee nodded.

Sarah also nodded.

Tritter waited a moment and then gave them questioning looks. "Yes?"

"Ayup, that's what we just said." Lee nodded. "Ya asked the question, son. We answered. Gotta ask more if'in you want more answers. We're not mind readers ya know!"

Sarah gave him a faint smile. "You have to be specific as to what you wish to hear about, otherwise we won't know what to tell you. We might babble on for hours about stuff you can't use. I mean... you are trying to keep John in jail right?"

"And that doesn't bother you?" Tritter asked.

Both shook their head. "Hell, man! We'd prefer ya threw out the key!" Lee snorted. "That boy, love 'im, but he ain't right in the head, if'in ya know what I mean?"

"If I was more directly involved? I wouldn't even be bailing him out. And Lord love him, he's my own brother." Sarah sounded disgusted and aggravated. "But that... woman... she's just as damn bad." She muttered to herself.

"John has always been a bit of'a handful. Took after his pa too much." Lee leaned back in his chair and looked at Tritter with that same penetrating and narrow look. "Used ta take Johnny, my brother, ta task for wantin' ta hit on the kids. His gal, she did too. Didn't believe in divorce, but she believed in standin' up ta the drunkin' bastard. I stuck by her too. We took care of busi'ness by our ownselves back then. No police 'round anyhow to be callin'. Not in the boonies. Not tha' far out! So a man acted like an Ih'jit, well, we told 'im so an' took 'im round back out of the line o'sight. Ya know what I mean? Took Johnny round back a coupl'a times over tha years b'fore he passed on. But, John? It's always been in 'im. Even as a rugrat. Hittin' his sisters an' brothers. Losin' his temper and bein' unreasonable. He went ta the Marines, became a pilot, an' came back more in control of the way he expressed 'em. But that same temper and unreasonable 'tude was still there! Jest was colder 'bout it. More sneaky like. Harder ta predict. Dragged Greg and Blythe from one base ta 'nother, all ova tha world."

"So he himself came from a family where the father was prone to abuse, though you and his wife took pains to protect the kids from it?" Tritter asked, trying to make sure he had the story straight.

"Ayup." Lee nodded. "Still don' make it right ta do it ta yer own."

Tritter nodded. "Exactly. Do you have reason to believe that Greg was in fact abused as a child as well?"

Sarah gave an explosive scoff. "Are you kidding? Hell yesssssss! That boy would come to my mother's house during the occasional summer, and would arrive with bruises on him. Blythe would say it was because Greg was 'clumsy'. And Greg, of course, would just nod his head and agree. But my mother used to tell me that, he never so much as tripped while there. And those bruises were usually perfect for fingerprints. Like John had grabbed him. And the welts could not be explained by 'falling'. Greg never wanted to go home, neither!" She told him. "Not that I blame him one little bit!"

"Got tha boy ta admit once, only once mind ya, but he was talkin' ta me... and used ta be, John would force that boy inta ice baths when he misbehaved too. Fill tha tub with water, and then dump ice inta it. Then shove tha boy inta it." Lee sighed. "An if'in the boy was late comin' home? Or if'in he was more annoyin' than usual? He wasn't above makin' that there boy sleep outside ovah night. No tent. No pillow. No blanket. No nuthin' but what was on 'is back!"

"And Blythe House allowed this?" Tritter asked, having written down the information as he was being given it. His pen was moving quickly across the page, trying to get as much as possible. His face growing grimmer and grimmer with each detail.

"Allowed it hell? Who ya think would be tellin' John tha Lil'Greg had been 'bad' tha day?" Lee glared, not at Tritter, but at some memory in the past. "Woman might as well have done it her ownself for the fact tha she basically ordered it. Course, Greg never saw it tha' way. Only saw his pa carryin' it out. Associated in his mind the pain and humiliation with his daddy, an' then after the punishment, Blythe would hug him, kiss his head, an' tell 'im he was her boy and she loves 'im and tha' he was 'still perfect ta her'. So he associated care and love with his momma. Pain with his daddy. Don't think even John evah realized tha' she was settin' him up ta be the sole villain and her ta be the 'hero'."

Tritter pursed his lips. "Good cop bad cop, taken to the extreme. Since John House represented authority, of course he'd start to resent it in any form. And if he wore his uniform often... He'd have a natural distrust of anyone else in a uniform or held a position of power."

Tritter was disgusted as he pursed his lips. "I want to push this as far as I can. I want John House to pay."

"Won't it all be hearsay and in the past anyway? I mean there's statue of limitations and all?" Sarah said sadly.

Tritter nodded. "I know. And this is only the arraignment. But would you two be willing to come and make a statement that you believe those two represent some kind of danger to the victim? It's only a temporary order at the moment, and won't become permanent unless Greg House shows up to court in ten days and asks for it to be made such. But I'd like it if perhaps... we could keep both Blythe and John away from Dr. House for as long as possible, and then while they are away from him..."

"Try to get him to see sense and reason? That it isn't just his dad, but his mom as well? Because, even if we manage to get John in jail... Blythe will just lay a big old guilt trip on the boy." Sarah predicted.

Tritter nodded. "Gregory House has a lot of issues. From his addiction to this... I don't think any of us need her to drive him further down the road of self-destruction." Tritter said in what he hoped was a reasonable tone. "It will only hurt him and those that care about him. And..." He trailed off not wanting to say too much more and possibly lose allies.

"Pft, the boy has more issues than National Geographic. But reckon ya have a point there. We'll do our part. if'in you do yours. So long as it ain't solely fer revenge, reckon we can help ya. But ya hurt our Greg? Deal off."

Tritter paused, his face blank and then slowly nodded. "It isn't solely for revenge. It may have started out with less than pure motives when I answered the call. But the more I dig, the angrier I get that this crime has never been brought to light and dealt with. No one should ever be treated like he was. And the problems I have with Dr. House... are no longer an issue."

"What goes around, comes around." Lee reasoned and stood up. "Take it ya'll be drivin' us, righ'?"

Tritter gave his first real smile and nodded. "Yes, thank you for your cooperation."

He was finally getting somewhere. John House, was going to go down.

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	64. Chapter 64

"Luuuuunch timmmmmeeeeee." RJ quietly called out as he came into the room with a tray in his hands. He paused and saw them curled up together and said. "Awwww, that's so cuuuute... but I don't think there's enough room for you both to sit there and eat!"

House sneered waking up slowly. "What the hell is..." He blinked slowly, then squinted at RJ. "I had a nightmare that you were dressed in drag as Snow White..." He told the male nurse with a disconcerted look on his face. "You had a bluebird on your shoulder. It was being cheerful. I had to kill it, and you."

RJ raised his brows and then furrowed them. "I don't think I could pull that off. I don't have the hips." He said carefully, putting first House's tray on the lap table, and then moving Chase's to the chair and lowering it so that he could eat from there.

"No shit." House snorted. "Hence the NIGHTMARE! You also had a hairy chest. Hairy chest, plus a push up bra? I may be scarred for life!"

RJ smiled a little, chuckling as he went out to get Chase's tray. Chase ran a hand through his hair and gently sat up.

"I also bring drugs!" RJ said cheerfully, once more disappearing and the returning with two dosage cups. One for each of them.

"Oh, gimme!" House made grabby motions with his hands for the little white pills in the cup offered to him. "I shall now allow you and your bird to live free, so long as you keep bringing us drugs!"

"Now is that anyway to treat your drug supplier?" RJ teased.

House looked up at him and said. "Well, if I had a gun I could shoot you? Isn't that how it usually goes down in the 'hood'?"

RJ shook his head, rolling his eyes slightly as he smiled. "You're a lot nicer when you're completely concussed and barely conscious."

"I'm down right polite when I'm passed out!" House agreed, dry swallowing the contents of the cup, without looking at them first. "Might explain all those chemical comas people keep willingly putting me in!"

Chase took RJ's help to get him back into the chair, keeping all his weight on his left leg.

"That creepy cop finally left." RJ reported, taking the lids off their trays and moving them across the room.

"Good." House and Chase said at the same time.

"Doctor Turner will be around to discuss the results of your stress test sometime after lunch." RJ continued to report. "And Doctor Foreman was here earlier, but you two were asleep, so he'll come back later in the evening. Your Uncle Lee and Aunt Sarah have gone out to eat somewhere, and will be back in a couple of hours. And your mother left, I guess to go to the hearing or something."

Chase opened his soup and paused a second. "Is there anything you didn't note? What did you do? Take messages for us?"

RJ smiled slightly once again and shrugged. "Ummm... I think Doctor Turner is having lunch with Doctor Cameron, but I don't know if that is voluntary or because she TOLD him he's having lunch with her. Annnnd... Dr. Cuddy is talking to the insurance company and sorting out your billing as best she can. She thinks that the ortho for your leg, she might have written off due to the experimental splint being involved. It could be considered a 'study'."

House squinted at him and then looked at Chase. "Can I hire him as a secretary? Cuddy gets a secretary. Why can't I have one? Sure, he's not pretty, but he could tackle Cuddy before she could get to my office like her boy-toy-secretary tries to do me!"

"Beeecause you have Fellows and they double as your minions and servants already? You tend to make one answer your mail and do your filing, so you don't really need one?" Chase suggested. "And Cuddy would just stab him with her heels."

"Yeah, but he seems actually good at all of it. I bet he could sort my e-mail in half the time!" House gestured at RJ.

"You learn to pay attention when you're a Floater. I might be working this floor for a few weeks, then I might be working Peds. I can end up in the ER. Or I could end up on geriatrics. It just depends on where they need me most at the time. You have to pick up on details pretty quick, or you're hopelessly lost all the time, and then you get fired. And I like my job here, so I'd rather not get fired. Speaking of which... do any of you need anything before I go?" He smiled at each of them.

They shook their heads, and he waved bye. "See you later then! If you need anything press a button."

"This, is not food." Chase sighed as he opened his soup. "This is water with delusions of grandeur." He took his spoon and dipped some onto it, before letting it drip back into the cup. "I have... nope. Not sure what the hell this is." House frowned, poking the meat-like substance on his plate. "I'm going to venture a guess and say it is meatloaf. But don't quote me on that. Someone might try to charge me with making 'misleading' statements."

Poking at his straw before finally opening it, Chase asked. "What are you planning on doing... about you know... everything?"

"Do you think Gonzo actually has sex with those chickens he's always dating?" House asked suddenly.

Chase appeared to give it deep thought. "I think so. And I'm well aware that is your way of saying you'd rather not talk about it."

House only gave a short curt nod, and attacked his meatloaf with his knife and fork, but after a few bites, he ended up pushing it away and leaning back deeper into his pillow.

"Too much too soon?" Chase asked.

House didn't really answer, instead he just took his water and sipped it.

"Do you need a basin?" Chase asked, his eyes widening slightly as he took in the green look. House shook his head slightly, holding up a finger while he reigned in his rebellious stomach.

"He's probably waiting to let loose on my shoes." Foreman said, pushing the door open and peeking in before stepping all the way into the room. "Still a bit nauseous are we?"

"We?" House asked. "Last I checked? You and I weren't Siamese Twins. And if we were?" He raised his brows a bit and tilted his head. "Thhhhhat would have been an interesting story to hear explained. I'm a bit pale too...?" He held up his hand and made a show of looking at it.

Foreman rolled his eyes and gave a vague smile. "I take it the nausea has passed now."

"Yes, WE are no longer nauseous." House told him. "And, you die! Where is my HAIR?" He growled, wincing at the headache he was making worse. But the man finally responsible, had arrived.

"You can't blame me!" Foreman smirked. "It isn't like I did the prep myself!"

"Who did it?" There was the promise of terrible retribution in House's voice as he narrowed his eyes and glared. "Who is about to get very intimate with my cane?"

"Welllllll..." Foreman almost looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there at that moment. "I heard a... rumor... mind you... that when she heard you needed prepped for surgery..."

"Who?" House's voice became even lower if that was possible. Darker.

"Nurse Brenda." Foreman finally admitted.

"She must now die." House intoned, lips set in a tight line. "No... I shall torture her by actually working Clinic duty. Death is too good for her. I shall call her in for 'assistance' on all the interesting procedures. I'll make her squeeze pus!"

"She'd never do it. She'd just call Cuddy. I have you scheduled for another CT, PET, and MRI. I'd like to keep a close eye on your condition." Foreman told him as though House had not been threatening anyone. "And just to let you know? Tritter's been questioning everyone he can. Not that he's learning a whole lot, but, just thought you'd like to know."

House frowned and looked at his rubbery meatloaf, he bounced the spoon off of it a couple of times. "Should meatloaf make hollow noises?" House squinted at it.

"Have you heard anything yet about the arraignment?" Chase asked.

"Not a word." Foreman shook his head. "Must be happening about now though." He shook his head again and started the Neuro checks again. House was doing well with them, it was just a matter of pain, and checking for infection.

"What do you plan to do?" Foreman asked House.

"I plan to... run away and join the circus. I always wanted to try the trapeze! It's the tights. Do you think they'd make my ass look big?" House offered, eyes wide and then batting his eyelashes at him.

Foreman rolled his eyes, looking annoyed. "You don't know, do you?"

"What would you do?" House asked suddenly. "I'm going to take a poll now. What would you do, if it was your parents?"

"I dunno." Foreman admitted. "My father is sane." He didn't comment about his mother, but he crossed his arms over his chest. "But, if he suddenly went INsane and tried to shove my head through a wall, I'd be hard pressed to maintain a 'family' type relationship with him. It would be hard, but... you got to do what you got to do."

"And what you got to do, is leave, because now it is my turn." Turner announced, flipping through Chase's file.

"Gladly." Foreman snorted, and walked to the door, turning only at the last moment and looking at Turner. Turner had his back turned to him, which gave Foreman the opportunity to flip the bird in his direction before stepping out of the room.

"Someone should explain the concept of windows reflecting images to him someday." Turner said lightly, approaching Chase.

"Oh, now where is the fun in that?" House said. "Then he wouldn't do it anymore and we wouldn't see the faces he makes when he thinks we're not looking!"

"Point well taken. I'm going to send home the same medications you've been on, as well as nitroglycerin..." Turner started.

"Tommy, is there any point in polling you as to what you would do if it was your parents trying to complicate your life by merely existing? And don't think for a moment I don't blame you for this mess. As soon as I'm out of this bed? I'm going to settle that bet with Noah!" House asked.

"Let them rot in jail." Turner reported without missing a beat. "Luckily, mine had the grace to die before now. I didn't even have to arrange a hit. Cheaper in the long run. I got to spend that ten thousand on my car, instead of giving it to the mafia."

"Thought so." House snorted in wry amusement.

"Seriously. Let them rot." Turner told him without looking over. Still looking at the file. "Testify against them."

"Them?" House frowned. "My dad was the only one involved."

Thomas just shrugged, unconcerned. "Whatever. Personally, I think any mother that stands to the side and lets their husband do whatever he wants to the kid, is just as guilty. Let him rot." He amended. "Now, if you were growing up today? In this world? You'd be in a foster home so damn fast... me too, come to think of it."

Chase frowned. "Was your parents...?" He let it dangle.

"They did not abuse me. They neglected me. Which I suppose is just as bad sometimes." Thomas reported with no show of emotion. Nor did he seem to care that he was revealing anything that should be 'hidden' or 'ashamed' of. "I learned to take care of myself. They were idiots." He sighed. "Most people are. Do you have any questions? About your case, I mean?"

Chase shook his head while Thomas shut the file. "Then we'll release you in two days, if you can keep out of trouble."

There was a knock on the doorframe and then Cameron was sticking her head in. Thomas quickly looked from side to side, then realized his exit was blocked. He shuffled a step back, and she stepped in. "Thomas?" She smiled. "I was just coming in to visit with Chase and House."

"I... was just... results..." Turner waved at Chase vaguely and then at the file in his hand. "Greg is doing a poll!" He said quickly. His face was slightly pinched, as though he was either in the middle of a very difficult bowel movement, or pondering something almost painful.

"Oh? On what?" She smiled.

"Whether or not Thomas is sexually repressed, or just lacking in the manhood department." House said without missing a beat.

Thomas quickly found his bearings in the face of House being an ass and turned to glare. "He's polling to see what people would do, if their parents were asses that try to kill their adult children." He corrected in a cold voice.

She frowned and looked thoughtful. "It would be... a hard decision. Especially, if I loved them." She crossed her arms over her chest, and looked at Thomas and then at House. "I would want to weigh everything, of course. The most important would be safety, not only for myself, but those I cared about. If my father was willing to hurt ME, then he would probably be more than willing to hurt someone I loved or cared about. With that in mind? I... I guess I would testify against him." She finally admitted. "Thomas? What was your answer?"

"Let them rot." He repeated easily, but was kind of trying to shift by her unnoticed.

"Thomas?" She smiled and narrowed her eyes.

"I wasn't doing anything." He immediately stopped shifting. "I was just..."

"Uh huh..." She laughed and shook her head. "I was just thinking... would you like it if I made you dinner tonight?"

He was silent a moment, and tapped the file in his hand against his hand. Then he mumbled something under his breath.

"Hm?" Cameron leaned in and asked. "What?"

"Lasagna. I like lasagna and garlic bread." He said a bit louder. With that, he walked quickly and with determination out of the room. Glaring at everyone in his path.

House gave a startled laugh, turning to look at Cameron in wonder and amazement. "How the HELL did you do that? You have a voodoo doll, don't you? Admit it! No, wait! I know! You're either drugging him, or blackmailing him! Ohhhh, I should have known! That's your MO... good job! Keep it up!"

She just smiled while rolling her eyes, shrugged, and left without another word.

"Are we done eating yet?" RJ asked, sticking his head in. "I know you've not had a lot of time, but the orders are here for you to have some tests." He looked at House.

"Yes... WE are done eating. Why does everyone insist that they are doing this with me? Although, considering how this tastes? I wouldn't mind if someone else could chew it, digest it, and excrete it for me! Because it is DISgusting! Go get my royal coach! I'm off to go play in the machines!" House announced, pushing the lap table away. "Maybe I can hear some good gossip about Turner and Cameron!"

He rubbed his hands together as RJ came with the chair. "Want anything while I'm out? We're not out of milk are we? Cat food... wait... we don't have a cat. Latte?"

Chase put a finger to his chin and looked up. Thinking. "No, I think we're good!"

"See you after I've had my pictures taken!" House waved goodbye as he was pushed out.

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	65. Chapter 65

Interlude 12

"John House, you are charged with two counts of terroristic threats in regards to kill, two counts of aggravated assault, one count of bias intimidation, one count of attempted murder, one count of resisting arrest. You have the right to remain silent, and any statement may be used against you. You have the right to counsel. If you are unable to afford counsel, a Public Defender may be appointed to you. Do you, John House, wish to have counsel?"

"I do your Honor." John House answered, his back straight and his face serious.

"John House, being from out of state, you cannot apply for any of the pretrial intervention programs available in the state of New Jersey. John House, you have a right to a probable cause hearing. You have a right to indictment by the grand jury and trial by jury, and if the offense charged may be tried by the court upon waiver of indictment and trial by jury, the court shall so inform you."

"Bail is in general set, not to some... calculation by offense, but there are general guidelines which give us a reference point." The Judge in front of John House said. "There are many factors to be considered when setting the amount. We do have a certain... range... but it is important to remember they are just mere guidelines. I've looked over the information given me. Due to the seriousness of the offenses in which you are accused and the fact that you are not from this state, added into your attempt to resist arrest to begin with... I have no choice, but to set bail at the amount of $750,000. This amount must be paid in full, and is set in reference to the attempted murder charge."

John House stood at attention, eyes glaring as he turned to meet Tritter's small smirk.

The Judge rambled off the other information that was relevant to the case and the needs for his lawyer, once he obtained one, and then nodded at the bailiff before he smacked his gable down

"Due to the relation of the matter to this one, we are also here to discuss the bail of Blythe House." The Judge said gravely as the John House was dragged out by the bailiff.

She had been crying every since she arrived at the court house and had been arrested after being presented with the warrant that Tritter had managed to obtain since leaving the hospital.

"You can't do this!" She protested.

"Mrs. House, please sit down." The Judge said in a bored manner. "Detective Tritter, you obtained a warrant an hour ago and Blythe House, you are charged with the following: False swearing, Tampering with a witness, Hindering Prosecution... well well well... husband and wife team. You're a regular Bonnie and Clyde, aren't you?"

Blythe was trying not to cry, but the Judge was unmoved, and still looked bored. "You have the right to remain silent, and any statement may be used against you. You have the right to counsel. If you are unable to afford counsel, a Public Defender may be appointed to you. Do you, Blythe House, wish to have counsel?"

She nodded and then cleared her throat. "Yes, your Honor."

"Blythe House, being from out of state, you cannot apply for any of the pretrial intervention programs available in the state of New Jersey. Blythe House, you have a right to a probable cause hearing. You have a right to indictment by the grand jury and trial by jury, and if the offense charged may be tried by the court upon waiver of indictment and trial by jury, the court shall so inform you."

She was shaking and kept wiping at her face. "You pose a significantly less risk of flight, mostly due to your husband remaining in custody at this time. Since your charges are somewhat lesser, your bail will be set at $25,000, and you may pay the 10. In addition, thanks to the charge of tampering with a witness, I will grant the No-Contact Order."

Once more he banged the gable after relaying all the relevant information further needed.

Tritter left the room with a small chuckle. A victory in this case, after such a rocky start. He felt like he could finally breathe freely. It wasn't an end of the war. But this small skirmish had been in his favor. His battle plans were so far solid. "I'll give you a ride back to the hospital now." He greeted Lee and Sarah in the hallway, his hands in his pockets.

Lee smiled and shared a look with Sarah. "We gots ourselves a lot o'work ta do, girlie."

Sarah sighed and nodded, agreeing. Her nephew was not going to be happy. In fact, it was safe to say he was going to be pissed.

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	66. Chapter 66

They were alone again. The trays taken away, and Chase hustled to his own bed. House had returned from tests. The nurse hadn't been RJ, unfortunately, so there were no 'deals' to make. She'd been unyielding and strict. He had his own bed and would heal better if he could make use of it. House told her she sucked. She ignored him.

"You've not polled me." Chase eventually said, quietly. Part of him questioned the intelligence of this decision. To bring it up. To have House ask him. But the other part was stronger. The part that cared and wanted to help House, somehow, through this. He just didn't know the right way of doing it. He was in the dark, and doing things as it occurred to him. He hoped he was doing the right thing.

House looked over and then looked up at the television. Chase figured that House was going to ignore him at this point. Despite nothing good being on just yet. They still had a half hour before General Hospital would be on. "Wasn't sure you'd answer."

"Normally, no." Chase said, picking his words very carefully. "But, in the last couple of days... and considering the circumstances. I don't know..." He played with the edge of his blanket.

"What would you do?" House asked, narrowing his eyes and giving him a curious look.

"Twenty years ago? I would have kept quiet. Refused to testify." Chase began, thinking carefully before he said each word. He knew if he lied, even about the past, House would try to ferret it out. The truth, was important. Especially to House right now. "But, if it happened today? I think I would testify. When we're young, we... we can't... think... of anyone more important, stronger, or more powerful than our parents. They start out being our... whole world."

"If they faltered? Frightening. How, could they be wrong?" Chase asked quietly. "After my father left, and I was left only with my mother... I realized that... that... everything was wrong. Not just them. But everything! I wanted one thing in my life to be perfect. To have meaning... To be worth the misery I was in."

"That's when you found your religion, wasn't it?" House asked, giving him the same curious look, but the light was coming on in his eyes as he connected the dots in Chase's life. A puzzle was being solved for House. And that made House find at least some measure of visible satisfaction. "After all, a God would have to be perfect, almost by definition! Religion was a way of giving meaning to everything around us. In the old days, we didn't understand the sun. So it had to be a god doing it. Now we know how it works, so people have to cloak everything in even more 'mystery', but it still provides the service of explaining that which causes us pain and hurt. If we suffer pain and hurt with good grace, we're rewarded with an afterlife that is nothing but good and pleasure. The problem being? There is no reason in the end. No reward. It's just life. And life hurts."

Slowly, Chase nodded. When put that way, yes, it made sense to him. Even if he'd never really put it in those words before now. Talking about this, was helping Chase connect dots in his life. To understand the subconscious reasons for his own decisions. Things he'd done on instinct, almost, in order to survive mentally intact in a situation that could have destroyed him completely.

"My father was neglectful, my mother..." He gave a raw laugh, shaking his head, looking up to the distant corner in the room. "She was... not the woman she used to be. She didn't start out an alcoholic. When I was a small child. She... was a good mum. She held me. She read to me. She gave me bathes and tucked me into bed. It was when I was older that things started to change. Every year, dad was that much more distant. That much more... gone. Never home. Coming home smelling of someone else's perfume."

House was silent, just listening, not interrupting. Chase took that to mean 'continue'.

"Mum though, she didn't want to give up on her marriage. She was a Catholic, and... divorce? Not really something that... yeah... She... would buy new dresses. Diet all the time. Go to spas and get make overs. Dye her hair. Try anything to look younger. Read every magazine you could imagine, with tips, for 'keeping your man happy'. Only he never noticed. He 'worked late' all the time. Had 'emergencies', before supper and wouldn't be home till the wee hours of the morning. And mum, she knew. And she would try to ignore the other women in his life. Because she kept telling herself... he came home, to us. He may have his flings, but... he came home to us..."

He paused again, wondering if House would say something mocking or an insult. But he did neither. So, after nodding to himself, he continued again.

"Until... he didn't. Heeee found someone that was not only younger, sexier, and more 'fun'. She was less 'needy'. At least, those were his words. My mother was 'stifling' him. Suffocating him with her problems, he said." Chase gave a bitter life. "So, he left us. No, he didn't take me with him. I would have been a reminder, you see. I'm not sure if that would because he might feel a bit of guilt, or the fact that his new 'wife', didn't want to be reminded of his old one. For a while, I would visit. You know how it is? You... go on weekends. Every other weekend. Then it is once a month... then it is only on the Hols... then it is only a call... then eventually there's not even a card for your birthday. If the new wife doesn't like you, and the husband is not going to fight for the kid... thennnn you're pretty much S-O-L. Shite out of luck. And that was what I was. The only good thing is, he did pay the child support."

"Mum tried to get a job, but... she just... wasn't good at it. She'd quit, or she'd get fired, or she'd have some excuse. People didn't 'like' her. Or they were 'jealous' of her." Chase rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"When I would get scared, or I was hurt, I could go to my room, fold my hands, and talk to Him. I could feel like he was at least listening, and telling me I was still worthy of His love. That if I just endured, when the time came, He would welcome me into his arms and give me love and comfort. As soon as I could, I joined the Seminary. But, as I got older, and after my mother finally died... her liver finally cashed in... I started to lose my faith. I realized I was still hollow. Still without someone that was in the here, and now, that would hold me and love me. Tell me I was theirs. I left the Seminary and... well... to be honest? I..." He nibbled his lip, and noted he was getting feeling in it again. It had been longer than he realized since he'd noticed. "I forced dad to help pay for my schooling. HE wanted me to be a doctor. Always had, on the rare occasions we were in contact. I went to him, after leaving, and appeared on his doorstep. He approved of my decision, buuuuut... wasn't too keen on paying for it. But, I threatened to make it public that the famous and rich Rowan Chase, had left his first wife and biological son years before, and had all but forgotten them. And now didn't want to even help him to go to medical school? He didn't want the bad PR. He was getting ready to publish another book. But he only, paid for the schooling. I had to get a job for anything I wanted for myself. You know, that's why I would get so damn... irritated... with people believing I was rich just because of dad. He never provided anything more but the bare essentials. I'm honestly surprised he called you, and asked you to give me a chance." Chase shook his head in wonder.

"Uhhhhhh..." House made a sound and Chase glanced over in time to see him wince. "Noooot... exactly. He called me, yes. But not to ask me to give you a chance. Heeee actually said that it wouldn't be a good idea to take your application and resume seriously. Because he wasn't too sure of your skill. Said I'd probably end up firing you within a month, and sort of indicated that your mother was much the same way. Said you were looking out of country because you couldn't hold a job."

Chase's eyes were wide. "He... that bastard! Then... why did you hire me?"

"Because, he sounded like a man that had a vendetta, and one against his son? That was interesting. It was different. I wanted to know why." House told him. "Wanted to know, what would make a man hate his son that much."

Chase paused and then applied it to the situation at hand. House wanted to know why his own father hated him so much. Much like Mrs. House surveying him when she first met him. It was like... taking a poll!

"Did your mother hurt you?" House asked, his voice sounding distant and vague. He was no longer looking at Chase anymore. Instead, he was focused on some indistinct spot on the wall in front of him. "I know she didn't touch you in your no-no place. Otherwise, there would be a different telling of the story."

"Yes. She hurt me. No, it wasn't sexually. Not at all. Fact is, after my father, I don't think she even tried to date. I certainly don't remember her going out with anyone!" Chase told him, not looking over to look at House. Not wanting to see the expression on his face, and afraid that if he did, he'd not be able to finish his account. This was another difficult part to this telling.Admitting even more, and being far more detailed. It was hard.

"She was unreasonable when she was drunk. She wouldn't listen. She'd get mad. All that mattered was getting more. More and more and more... at least in the end. In the beginning, it was just on the weekends. Then it was in the evenings, every other day. Then it was in the evenings every day. Then eventually? She didn't drink tea, milk, or juice. Even in the morning? It was a drink. Eventually, even food didn't really interest her. I remember one night in particular, I can't recall what it was I said, specifically. I don't think it was important. But she picked up a glass..." He held out his hands, in a large oval. "It was a bowl with legs on it. It was colorful glass, bluish, greenish with some purple mixed into it. And the design was like... a bowl of fruit in glass on the outside. You would store, stuff inside it? We usually just put odds and ends in there. Sometimes our keys, change, whatever. She picked it up, and... it was pretty heavy. I remember that. It was, heavy. She lobbed it in my direction. I was so... stunned... I didn't duck until the last moment. It got me in the shoulder. I remember telling myself to act like it didn't hurt. To just stand up and walk away. Don't say anything... My shoulder was numb for a few seconds, and then the pain just... washed in. It burned and stung and hurt. And I could feel my eyes tearing up. But I made myself turn away, and walk toward my bedroom."

"She got madder, didn't she?" House probed. Chase could imagine his eyes right now. That hawk-like look that tore away all illusions like tissue paper beneath his talons. But knowing what he knew now about House's own family? He thought perhaps House was talking from experience. Him trying to be defiant to his father. Act like it hadn't bothered him, and because he was so 'rebellious' his father would try to provoke a response. Some proof that he had in fact gotten 'to' him. He could imagine House trying to 'smile' or rolling his eyes. Two strong willed people butting heads. Only one of them was older, stronger, and not willing to compromise at all. Perhaps, neither of them willing to compromise. The battles must have been fierce as House got older.

Chase nodded finally. "I had my back turned that time, heading to my room, as I said. I had figured she'd go back to what she'd been doing, but she'd gone and picked the damn thing up again..."

He put a hand to the back of his neck, and left it there. The low throb in his back reminding him of the pain he'd felt days later after that time. He'd barely been able to move the next day, but he still dragged himself to school. If anyone asked, he told them he'd fallen down the steps. It wasn't the first, or last time he told that particular story. And then, later? He'd had to vary it. He'd been in a fender bender. He'd fallen off his bike. He'd gotten beat up in the park. Whatever it was that seemed to fit at the time. "I don't recall the complete sequence of events. Just being hit between my shoulders, two or three times, before I could get turned around, and then we were... slapping and hitting at each other. And she started crying... and damned if I wasn't the one that ended up feeling guilty. She cried, and I wrapped my arms around her and held her till she fell asleep. Then I crawled into my room, got into bed and slept till the next morning. But somehow, somehow, she always managed to make ME feel responsible, somehow. Said I provoked it, in some way. If 'only I hadn't argued'. If 'only I had done what I was told'. If 'only... whatever reason du jour!'"

"They're good at that." House flipped through the stations while Chase nodded in agreement. "They cry, and you... feel lower than dirt. I can hear any other woman in the world cry, and feel vaguely annoyed. But to hear my mother cry? I suspect it is evolution. Something in our lizard brain that says don't hurt your parents, because they are supposed... supposed to... protect you, or something. To keep you from offing them before you are ready to be on your own, or to let them produce more spawn. I'm not sure. Evolution can suck. Though I'm glad I'm an only child. Apparently, I was such a handful, dad got a vasectomy so they didn't accidentally have two of me! Shame, on second thought, a brother and I could have taken over the world by now! Now I must contend myself with ruling my office and those that think they want to work for me!"

"Wasn't the last time either." Chase continued thoughtfully. "I didn't always hit back, but I usually tried to restrain her somehow. Try to grab her hands. She bit me once, after I did that. Drew blood! It was like trying to handle a giant two year old. She would sometimes stand there and scream, just a low... growling scream... like an animal. No words, just... growling and screaming at me. Throwing whatever was at hand. Stomp her feet. It was... ridiculous." Chase ran his tongue over his back teeth, then around to the front. "It... was a relief... when she was finally so sick she couldn't do anything but lie in bed. It was a bigger relief when she died. I then felt guilty for that, as well. I was... finally free. Only, I wasn't. Because... somehow? She was still there, with me. In here." He tapped the side of his head. "But, now? Now I can step back. From her memory. I'm stepping back further and further... every year now. It's mattering less and less. Every time I do talk about it? It hurts a bit less. First time, I told you. Then, later I told a patient about it. The one I... I accidentally... killed. I told her during the pelvic exam. Kind of a... bonding moment? I think Mrs Warner, Stacy, called it."

He glanced over at House a moment and then continued. "Then, then I told your mother. Now, I'm telling you... more. More in-depth. The... details. I'm putting it in a bit more perspective, just recently. It wasn't my fault. I did nothing wrong. My guilt is... was...misplaced. I think that sometimes I feel guilty about telling the story though. I, try to rationalize why I tell it at all, sometimes. I'll tell myself, it was to put a patient at ease. I'll tell myself, you wouldn't have left me alone and probably would have done a background search of some sort. I tell myself, I was trying to help your mum or that... that I was doped up and wasn't thinking straight when I told her. But the truth is? I need to tell it. I need to let it go. It was too much to keep to myself. And... I'm ashamed on some level. I don't know why. It isn't like I'm the one that made dad leave. I'm not the one that told mum to crawl into the bottle and never come out. But... I still feel... shame. Embarrassed. Guilty. I hate to say it, but... I sometimes, imagine that is what it feels like for victims of different types of abuses. And that is why people don't tell the authorities or try to cover it up. That is why, people lie, about this kind of thing. I need to stop rationalizing, and just... own up. My mother was an alcoholic abuser. My father a neglectful arsehole. And, it isn't my fault. There is no fault on my part, and that I was their victim. I have rights. And one of them is to have a happy life without them hanging over me."

"So if it happened today, you would turn your mom in and testify against her?" House squinted at him.

"In a heartbeat." Chase turned to finally meet his eyes.

"I think you are still lying." House accused, but there was no heat in his voice. His eyes just looked sad. "I think you would have continued to enable her."

"We'll never know for sure. Maybe I am, and I'm lying to myself. Maybe I just want you to do that which I couldn't do for myself. I don't know. Either is possible. But what I do know? Is that Allison is right. I would have to look at the safety of those I loved and cared for around me. My mother was a danger to me. She wouldn't hesitate to hurt you or one of my friends. That? That I could not and would not allow. Not now, and not then. Just that then? I didn't have any friends, and now I do."

Wilson knocked on the door and then looked from one bed to the other. "Half thought..." He let it trail off and grinned.

Chase wasn't sure if he was annoyed or relieved by Wilson's appearance. This was not an easy conversation and despite his words had been painful. Like ripping a band-aid off. He just hoped that House would realize that he needed to deal with it. It had to end, and soon. Now.

"Obviously! Since you didn't finish your sentence, you must not be thinking things through. Now, try again... You can do it. I have faith in you. You, half thought... what? Let's finish that thought!" House prompted.

"Ohhhh, just that earlier you two were snuggled together like puppies." Wilson smirked. "I wondered if that is what you would be doing now."

"I resent that. I do not snuggle. I was... asleep. HE snuggled. I was the victim of a random snuggling! I should be in therapy... and given better drugs." House declared. "For my trauma."

Wilson squinted. "Mmmmmm no." He finally said, shaking his head. "I don't think so. But! I come bearing gifts. Or not so much gifts, as something that already belongs to you."

With that, Wilson pulled out House's Gravedigger cap.

House snatched it out of his hands and pushed it back in shape. "How dare you defile my cap by scrunching it up!" House told him as he slipped it on his bare head. "Great, now I look like the epitome of one of your patients, just with a cooler hat!"

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Your hair will be back before you know it. I think you're already starting to get a hint of peach fuzz."

House scowled at him, arms crossed over his chest. "Bring us entertainment!" House demanded.

"What? Dancing girls? Pretty sure Cuddy wouldn't like that. Especially after last year when you paid that one girl to give her a lap dance..." Wilson said, amused as he remembered Cuddy's face as the woman in question had rubbed her ass on Cuddy's...

"EARTH TO WILSON!" House cupped his hands around his mouth. "EARTH CALLING WILSON! COOOOME INNNNN WILSON!"

Wilson blinked back to awareness while Chase laughed into his forearm. Chase could have sworn that Wilson had started to drool.

"My DVD player? Movies? You have a key to my... our... apartment. Go get us something to watch!" House waved an imperious hand toward the door. "Fetch! If you hurry, you can have it here and hooked up before supper!"

No, it wasn't his imagination. Because Wilson wiped at his lower lip with his hand quickly and gave House an irritated look. "I'm not here for your amusement."

"Yes, you are. All of you are. I'm God, remember?" House argued. "Now, be a good boy and run along."

Wilson glared at him, but with a sigh he gave a small smile. "Anything else, Master?"

"Any chance you can sneak in booze, something gluten free? Or open the cabinet to the good drugs, which you've taken away from us, because you're mean and cruel to us...?"

"That would be a no." Wilson told him, amused. "Neither of you need morphine anymore. You'll live with Vicodin."

"Then that is all! You may now go. Feed Steve, while you're there." House dismissed him with a sniff. "Check his water bottle. And if his cage needs it, change out his litter."

As Wilson left the room, Chase chuckled. "You know he's going to get you back for all this."

"Yes, and I am looking forward to whatever he has planned. It's so much fun making him stoop to my level!" House said, adjusting his cap a bit so that it didn't press on the bandages on his head. "Now... about our date tonight... I'll come over to your place after dinner. Sorry, but popcorn and such is off your diet these days. But I'll save my jello cup for you, because you're supposed to bring your date something."

"My place... after..." Chase smiled as he realized what House meant.

"Well, I'd invite you to my place, but your car's been stolen by the bitch nurse! I say we should call the police and report it, but I don't think you had your license yet, and they haven't sent you the title. No way to prove it was yours." House gave a long sad sigh.

"That's all right. By now? It's probably already been wrecked and gutted for parts. She probably took it for a joy ride, left it in a field somewhere." Chase pretended to lament.

"Just can't trust those nurses... obviously." His hand stole to his hair and he was once more pouting.

No one could say that House was particularly vain, but it was obvious that he didn't particularly like being shaved of all his hair. Like it was some kind of shield or cloak.

"It will grow back, House." Chase chuckled. "I promise."

"It better, or I'm suing someone!" House promised. "For all she's worth. All... twenty five cents!"

There was another sharp rap on the door and a woman was entering with a large folder in her hands.

"I swear, I don't remember getting quite this much traffic the last few times I was in the hospital." House bitched. "Why don't they just move us to the lobby, that way people don't even have to bother riding the elevator."

"I'm the dietician, Susan Hirst." The woman said blandly. "I'm here to see a Robert Chase?"

Chase raised a hand and winced at the thought of his future diet.

"I assure you it isn't nearly as bad as what you're no doubt thinking. There is absolutely no reason that you shouldn't continue to enjoy a wide variety of foods. What you are focusing on avoiding and do not want will the things that contain wheat, oats, rye, barley or malt ingredients."

"Which rules out most booze." House pointed out. "This diet sucks already!"

She looked over her shoulder at him and glared. "You are not restricted, so have no reason to complain."

"Sure I do. You won't have to see the big puppy eyes when I'm trying to have a beer! Do you have list of gluten free booze in that folder?" He demanded.

She gave him a narrow look, pressing her lips together. "There are ales, beer, brandy, wine, champagne, vodka, rum, and a whole host of alcoholic drinks that one can indulge in. It is a matter of reading the label and willing to pay a bit more than what is probably on sale for a quick drunk. So, if you're wanting to get your boyfriend drunk, you might just have to fork out a bit more money this time."

House started to smile. "I like you. You may continue..." He gave one of his imperious waves.

"Oh, I do thank you, oh so much." She said in a snide tone. She turned back to Chase and put the folder down in front of him. "These are guidelines, suggestions, and a partial list of what you could easily find in any store that meets your needs and diet restrictions. There are sample menus included so that you can get an idea of what will give you all your nutritional needs as well as avoiding flare ups. You'll continue with the supplements on the same schedule. I have suggested that you have periodic rechecks to ensure that there is no backward slides. The last thing we wish is a return. Your intolerance can lead to grave consequences as you've seen."

Chase could hear the implied lecture in her words, and he was annoyed. Yes, he was an idiot. Yes, he screwed up. But he hated having his nose rubbed into it.

"Okay, you're done. I've decided I don't like you anymore. Begone wench from hell. Back to the bowels of hell from whence you came! Say hello to Cuddy on the way through, she guards the gate!" House sneered. Then he tossed a paper cup in her direction, missing by a mile.

She pressed her lips together tighter, before stomping out.

"Damn, I forgot to sexually harass her first." House snapped his finger and winced. "Losing my touch."

"You'll catch her next time." Chase said as comfortingly as possible. "She didn't really give you much time. You didn't have a chance."

"You're just trying to make me feel better." House sniffed and pushed out his lower lip.

"You can sexually harass me for a while?" Chase offered.

"Well it isn't as much fun if you offer! It has to be spontaneous!" House protested.

"Okay, well... we'll watch a bit of television and you can surprise me at some point with a lewd and inappropriate comment when I'm least expecting it." Chase amended.

"But since you suggested it, you'll be expecting it." House offered, his lips twitching into a near smile.

"But because I'm expecting it, I know you won't do it, because I'm expecting it, so I'll stop expecting it and then it would be a complete surprise." Chase was trying not to laugh at this point.

"But by that logic, if you know that you won't be expecting it because I know you'll be expecting it, so I won't do it because... I'm way too high to finish this sentence." House laughed quietly, holding his head with one hand and shaking it slowly.

"Well now, it sho' sounds like someone is havin' fun!" Lee announced as he and Sarah returned to the room. "Reckon y'all wanna share?"

"We're just medicated." Chase waved a hand, giggling at the thought.

Aunt Sarah held out her arms and hugged first House and then Chase. "How are my boys? Other than higher than kites?"

"Not in pain?" House offered, smiling. "So, I'd say we're hunky dory!"

Lee lowered himself into one of the visitor chairs with a satisfied groan. Sarah perched on the foot of the bed, and folded her hands over her lap.

House, despite the medication, which to be honest, Chase was figuring that it hadn't actually been Vicodin that RJ had brought House. He were floating a bit too 'high' for that. Too comfortable. House was giving them evaluating and probing look. Through his own medication he tried to think what looked a bit like Vicodin, but wasn't...

"You two are hiding something." House pronounced slowly. Sarah fidgeted and fluttered her fingers in her lap, looking away.

Lee gave her a glare. "Girl, ya neveh could get away wit' nuthin'."

"Well, I could when it was me that was in trouble!" She protested. "Otherwise, I never would have had any fun growing up!"

Lee sighed deeply and then nodded. "Ayup, well, not so much as a hidin' it? As was tryin' ta figure out how ta come up on it wit'out ya getting all het up about it!"

"The arraignment?" House questioned.

"Ayup."

"Just tell me." House told him, looking straight ahead as though he were barely interested.

Lee crossed his arms over his chest, and slumped down an inch or two. "Well, son, it's this way. Yer daddy got hisself a whole load of charges. I'd reckon they be accurate. Judge set bail purty high. Gotta pay full amount. Reckon as well, Blythe din't figure on how how. Also reckon she din't figure on getting charged her ownself."

That got House's attention. "What?" He spat.

"Well, she lied ta a cop. She talked ta ya about the case, tryin' ta make sure you wouldn't talk ta him. An' what was tha' other thing?" He asked Sarah.

"I can't remember how it was phrased, but it would be called Obstruction of Justice in some states." Sarah said, almost apologetic.

House pressed his lips together, obviously pissed off. "Is my mother in jail?"

"Uhhhh not as such. Not now. Aftah all, she done brought money for John. Weren't enough fer him ta get out. But it were enough for her. But don't go thinkin' she'll be 'round ta talk ta ya. She's under one of 'em No-Contact orders." Lee told him.

House was silent and Chase was as well, his full attention on the other man. He knew the moment that House had come to a decision. His lips tightened, pressed together and turned in the bed, swinging his legs to the side.

"House, House, no! You're supposed to have bed rest for at least... House! You're going to fall!" Chase protested, and grabbed the button for the nurse on the remote. He pressed it once then again. It was the same way with an elevator. He knew it wouldn't make them come any faster, but he just couldn't stop himself from doing it again.

RJ hurried in and saw that House was getting to his feet, though obviously shaky. "Dr. House, you need to stay in bed." The male nurse told him, trying to take his arm.

House shook him off. "Where are my clothes?"

"No, House, don't..." Chase was sitting up now, turned to the side. "This isn't going to help!"

"This is getting all blown out of proportion. It's because Tritter is going to use them to get to me. I need to go talk to a judge or a lawyer, or something!" House held on to the railing as RJ jogged out of the room, looking or a doctor to help him convince House to get back into bed.

Wilson would not be in the hospital, but one of the others would.

"Lay your stupid ass back down, you moron!" Turner roared as he came into the room, RJ and Foreman trailing after him. "I swear to God for a so-called genius, you're the most moronic imbecile I've ever had the misfortune to meet."

"Get out of my way, Tommy." House growled.

"No. You think I'm scared of a man with a hole in his head, and morphine in his blood?" Turner scoffed. "Even I could knock you down at this point."

"I'm on Vicodin." House sneered, using the bed as he unsteadily moved around to try and find some clothes.

"No. You're on Morphine." Turner snorted. "I changed your orders."

"You're not my doctor!" House turned to look at him. "Wilson is."

"Yeahhhhh, funny how the pharmacy doesn't really care if someone is actually assigned to a case. Just that you have a DEA number, and don't have the same last name." Turner smirked. "Come on, you were going to be in a hell of a lot of pain. Not just from your stupid head wound, but from the leg too. Last MRI you had, they also MRI'd your leg. You also had a CT and PET. I've been looking them over, and I think your drug regime sucks. I'm not a chronic pain management doctor. But figured you could use a couple of days off. Are you actually going to BITCH about being put on the good drugs? God you're more stupid than I thought!"

House didn't seem to know what to say, so he just continued to try to move past Foreman and Turner.

"Get back into the bed. If you're this fucking worried about those pricks... I'll..." Turner sighed in annoyance, his lips a thin grim line. "I'll call them a lawyer. I still say you should let them rot, but..."

"I don't care about my dad. I'll... I'll testify against him." House sounded almost desperate. "I'll testify against him, if they will... will drop the charges against my mom! She, doesn't... deserve this."

Sarah scoffed, having been silent since House got off the bed. "She's just as bad as him. You just never saw..."

"Aunt Sarah!" House rounded on her and immediately got dizzy.

Foreman grabbed him under the arms and dragged him over to the bed, practically picking him up and shoving him onto it. "You stay here, and... Turner will call your mom a lawyer. But you rushing out there and killing yourself won't help. If anything? The charges will STICK and you won't be there for her! You want that?"

House shook his head, looking miserable. Chase felt helpless, irritated, and just wanted to throw things once more. Personally, he would have liked to see the fear of god and justice put into the woman himself. But he was torn between the feeling that it would be the lesser of two evils. Let her 'go' if it got John House in prison.

But, he was also afraid that... Blythe would press the issue, and insist that she'd never see Greg again, if her husband was put away. Or she would blame him, and guilt him, and... He rubbed his head and groaned as House glared at the far wall.

Turner gave a grim nod, and then walked out. Foreman on his heels. RJ stayed just long enough to make sure everything was all right.

"Leave." He told Lee and Sarah.

They looked at each other, sharing a look and then stood once more. "We'll go fer now. Let ya get on wit' the buizness of sortin' out yer feelin's. But we will be back. Ain't leavin' ya ta deal wit' this all by yer lonesome through this!"

House refused to say anything or even look at them as Sarah and Lee took their leave.

Chase wisely kept his own mouth shut, leaving House to his thoughts.

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	67. Chapter 67

Interlude 13

Foreman and Turner didn't stop to talk to Tritter as they made their way down the hallway discussing House's case. They were actually discussing the idea of calling in a third specialist. Someone that would be hard hitting on pain management. It wasn't that Turner cared, he told Foreman. It was just that there was a puzzle 'combination' to be solved there! There had to be a combination, just right, that would spare the man's liver function and sooth the pain, without actually cutting off his leg and then trying to do a second Ketamine restart.

Lee and Sarah though, paused beside him and then waited for him to push off the wall, to walk with them.

"I'm not using this to get to House, if that is what you're wondering." Tritter told them in a low voice. "You know that."

"Reckon yer reasons don' matter as much as long as it git the job done, an' ya don' hurt Greg." But there was a bit of warning in Lee's voice.

Tritter heard it, but knew it was just the love the man felt for the 'boy', as Lee thought of him. Tritter heard the faint words that had rung in his head for the last year and a half. 'Put yourself in their place'. He imagined it was his son, laying in the bed. Head wound. And any irritation he may have felt at the threat faded away.

"It isn't my intention to harm him." He opened his mouth and sighed, flipping his gum from one side to the other and pulling his trousers up a bit before settling his hands on his hips.

"Would you, you know, um... what is it called... push the deal forward to them, or you know... side with it, if he did that. Testify against John, if Blythe went free?" Sarah asked, pushing the button for the elevator.

Tritter was silent for a moment and then wiped his cheeks by pinching them and then pinched his nose with a sniff. Then he gave a sharp nod. "If that is the only way? I'll talk to the DA. But personally? I'd like to see her at least... I don't know... have some kind of consequence. She needs to pay some kind of price."

"Ayuh, but sometimes, the price? Come through their actions themselves. He goes ta jail? She loses 'er shield. Her knight. The one what did all 'er dirty work. She'll hafta live on 'er own. She won' know how. Not no more. An'... eventually? Mayhap Greg will see his ma for wha' she is. Cause, hard ta keep yer mask... if it be in jail!"

Tritter looked over at Lee, and then slowly nodded. "I'll take that into consideration."

As the door to the elevator opened, they stepped out, heading to Sarah's rented car, leaving Tritter by himself as he contemplated the scenario that Lee had put forth. Slowly, he nodded, catching the door just before it could close with his hand, and then going out to his car.

It was times like this, that he almost weakened. Almost reached for a cigarette. Felt the tug and pull to light up. Almost.

He flipped the visor down above him after he buckled his seatbelt and looked up at the picture of his son. It was taken about six months ago. Two front teeth missing from the smile. He'd lost them one after the other, as was usual for the age. He'd giggled whenever Mike would sing 'All I want for Christmas is my Two Front Teeth...' wiggling beside him as his fingers tickled his ribs.

Looking at the picture, still, he remembered further back. Well over a year before that. A few months before, the fight with his then wife. Her telling him that she was cheating on him. That she was leaving him, because he was too emotionally absent. There had been shouting and arguing, and... they almost didn't realize or hear their son trying to call to them. The boy couldn't breathe. Couldn't catch his breath. His lips turning blue... He remembered the panic he'd felt as he rushed his son to Princeton General. The sight of his son having his first breathing treatment for asthma.

Cigarettes were one of the many triggers. He remembered his wife yelling at him that he'd probably made it all worse, by smoking.

He'd moved out, the next night. Marriage was over anyway. The day after that? He threw away his pack of cigarettes and started chewing the gum.

Of course, not long after, he started to chafe and felt the burning and pain. His mind automatically went back to his wife telling him how she'd been cheating on him. It would be just his luck, if he had an STD. And then, with him worried, with his life falling apart around him. A cranky doctor seemed to be refusing to test him. Instead, dismissing his concerns. He'd heard about free clinic doctors being slipshod. The man was being superior and annoying, as though just because Tritter wasn't a doctor, he wasn't worth his time. That he was an idiot, because he'd come in the first place. He was going through his own withdrawal. He was angry. He was scared. He didn't show it, instead internalizing it. Lashing out, projecting... Then House pulled the shit with the rectal thermometer. He was humiliated and he'd honestly wanted to beat him. But that was too close to the past. Too close to reminding him of how his dad had done. So he offered to take an apology, but refused to be bullied himself. House unwittingly pushed every button Tritter had, at a time when he was at his most 'sensitive'.

After the Judge dismissed the case, he was brought up for review. There was talk of charging him with abusing his position on the force. He'd weathered the storm, but he'd been forced to see a counselor. He'd sat through 'classes' on sensitivity. He was forced to review his motivations for everything he'd done, not just during House's case... but in life. It had been very... illuminating.

Not much had changed in his life from that point on. And no, he didn't become a saint. He was by no means perfect. He still screwed up, because he was human. But once in a while, he did stop and ask himself 'why'. And at times like this, he remembered what was important to his life.

Looking at the picture, he took a deep breath and his resolve once more tightened. The craving faded back again, and he could pretend it was never there to begin with. He touched the picture with his fingertips, and then shut the visor, starting the car.

How could any parent hurt their children? Tritter asked himself that, almost too often since childhood.

Visitation. The highlight of his week. He smiled to himself and turned into traffic.

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	68. Chapter 68

"I... missed the fireworks, apparently?" Wilson said carefully as he walked slowly into the room. Under one arm was the DVD player, and held in his other hand was a bag of box sets that he'd grabbed at House's apartment. He looked each man over, and frowned. Chase gave a small shake of his head, frowning in return.

House hadn't spoken since everyone had left the room. Chase felt there was tension in the air, and was not prepared to prick it and cause House to turn loose on him. The relationship was way too young. Pretty much only 'hours' old. And he was not wanting to lose it this early in the game. Not when it felt so... good. So he held his tongue, knotted his fists in his lap, and just tried to wait.

"My mother. Was arrested. She had to post bail." House bit each word out, one by one. "Tritter has out-done himself this time. How hard is it, to send an old woman to jail?"

"House, I've met your mother. She's not frail. She could beat up my mother. Though, I'm pretty sure my mother could out-guilt your mother with one doe eye closed." Wilson tried to joke, but it fell flat in the ensuing silence.

He put the DVD on the table under the television and started connecting cords. "Turner, is contacting a lawyer for your mother." He told House. "Foreman stopped me on my way up to tell me. He also told me, that Turner changed your meds to the stronger stuff. Can't say I'm too pleased by his undermining me. But, Foreman gave a good defense for letting you stay on them for now. So you can at least consider that a 'win' for today." He said blandly.

"You think I should let my mother 'rot' too." House sneered at Wilson.

"I think... there's two sides to every story." Wilson sighed, putting his hands on his hips and looking down. "I haven't heard yours or hers, on this matter. I know how it looks right now, the things I'm hearing, mostly second and third hand. Why don't you... help convince me?"

He came over and sat down, facing House.

"Why should I have to talk about..." House started ranting, but Wilson was already raising his hands and shaking them from side to side looking down.

"Because, this isn't a situation where you can glare, intimidate, or snark the problem away. You can't hold all the cards to your chest, and then make everything better by a big reveal at the end, and giving a treatment to save the patient. This IS going to require talking, about the past, and yourself, and why WHY you think your mother should be spared. Just saying 'because I say so', is not going to work here. I'm sorry, but if you want to get anywhere with this? You are going to have to speak up and tell us why, what, how, and whatever else we'll need."

The entire time Wilson had spoken, House had glowered at him and then the wall, pressing his lips together.

He ground his teeth together and then gritting and speaking between them he said, "Fine... but only to you two. For now."

Wilson bobbed his head in agreement. "One step at a time, as they say."

House took a breath and then opened his mouth only to close it a second later. He didn't seem to know where to really start. His eyes looking around the room before focusing on the end of his bed. "When I was young... my father... wasn't around much. He was away, often. He was in Vietnam, for example. Gone for a... pretty long time. See, I was born in June of 1959. My father was about, nineteen years old. My mother, who he'd met in California, during training... was eighteen. They were..." He paused and winced. "Pretty young."

"She got pregnant, pretty much right away, and by the time I was born? The 'Conflict' was getting started. The US wouldn't really get into it till about 63 or so. But in that time, my dad had pretty much set himself on the path of 'career' military. He was rarely home in those years, and when he was? I don't think he quite... knew what to do with me. There was that initial pride of 'I have a son!' But then it wasn't as easy as he thought. Even though mom took care of me, I was a loud child. I... cried. A lot. Colic to begin with. He started taking overnight guard duty, just so he didn't have to be home for it. And god help us all if I cried during the day. Which yeah, happened, a lot. Soooo, mom started taking me out during the day. Shopping. Visiting. Car rides. But, having a baby that just would not stop screaming?" House shook his head. "Wore on the nerves. There was the school of thought too, that if you held a baby 'too much' they got spoiled. Everyone kept telling my mother that, she was spoiling me."

House just kind of shrugged again. "The colic faded, and got replaced with other things. Allergies. Bad allergies. Bad tonsils. Ear infections. Seemed like, every time she turned around, I was getting sick. But, she took care of me. Even when people tried to tell her I was 'doing it for attention'. She took care of me. She'd take care of me." He repeated again, nodding.

"By the time I was about..." He squinted, thinking. "I'd say about three, dad was pretty certain he was going to Vietnam. He was actually excited! Mom was horrified. Scared. But dad, he wanted the hell out of there. It was a good excuse. As soon as he could get the clearance, he went! He served more than one tour. In Vietnam, generally the soldiers served a year, and came home. Not always, of course. But, that was the 'in general'. Dad, actually... volunteered, more than once! It was what he did best."

"I loved it, because I got my mom all to myself. She'd let me climb into bed with her sometimes. She and I were 'buddies' as she put it. It was nice. She would cry during the news, but I didn't understand what was going on. Just being a kid. I didn't miss dad at all. Wasn't like he spent much time with me. He was that 'grumpy man that slept in the room during the day and yelled if I played'. As far as I was concerned, he could stay away." House snorted a little, smiling slightly.

"He... eventually came home though, and, I was... probably about seven. I think. Everything changed. He was angrier, and she was more timid. She was glad to have him home though, and told me we had to make 'allowances' for him. That he'd had it rough." House scoffed. "What was rough, was he had to leave. He'd loved it there, but they wouldn't let him go back. He was mad about it. He was stationed someplace new, and didn't get the assignment he wanted."

"Nothing I did was right. I was too loud. Or I was too curious. I talked too much. I was 'into everything'. And most of all, I was spoiled, and it was my 'mom's fault for letting me run wild while he was gone'." House was bitter with every word.

He fell silent. He didn't seem to know where to go next with the story. He leaned back further in the bed. "He said I was defiant. And, he didn't want her to... let me slack off. Didn't want her to hide what I did. Because he would find out, and then it would be worse. Because, he could always tell when SHE lied. So, she told him when I was 'rebellious' or had broken the rules. Then she would tell me, that she loved me, and that she didn't want to tell but had to."

"She always tried to make it up to me later." He offered. "Hugs, presents. Sometimes going ahead and helping me, when he wasn't around. She got me the chemicals when we were in Egypt so I could do my experiments. She never hurt me. Just... loved me. She made it easier to survive."

Wilson sighed, and looked a bit sad. He also looked helpless.

Chase felt both, as well as frustrated.

House met Chase's eyes and said. "She was my 'God, and my religion', until I could get out."

Chase closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead.

"House... She may really love you. In fact, I have no doubt whatsoever, that she does love you. And I don't doubt that he and she both loved you, and that he loved her. The love part, isn't the problem. It is about..." Wilson struggled to find a way of expressing it. "Responsibility to those in our care. They had a responsibility to take care of you. They had you. They kept you. They loved you. They should have protected you. Even... EVEN if that meant protecting you from each other. Blythe could have put her foot down. If she was scared of him? Which, is possible, yes. Then, she needed to get help. I'm well aware that it was a different world back then. Home 'correction' hadn't completely fallen out of favor. People still... spanked their children in public. People were more free about it. Psychology was just starting to really... catch on to the general public. Experiments to learn about... attachment, and moral development, and, and, and all sorts of behaviors were just starting to be studied in depth! Hell, people still used switches and paddles. The school still used corporal punishment. But, the things he did? Were so far above and beyond what was appropriate. Someone out there would have helped her. Lee and the others, would have helped her. I'm sorry, but I think she should have chosen you over him. I know, she probably thought it would break her heart to do so. But sometimes, it's the hard decisions that matter most."

House rolled his eyes. "She would never leave him. She loves him. She always tried to make it better..."

"House, listen to yourself." Wilson implored. "You. Matter. I want you to think back on everything you just said? And imagine someone in the Clinic telling you this story. Just... try it. Think of it as a personal experiment. Have someone in front of you, tell you this story... what would you tell them?"

He was silent, and Chase saw the resignation in his eyes. "I would tell them they were idiots." He admitted. "But... how do you stop loving someone, after 48 years of conditioning yourself to?" He asked. "Not to mention, it isn't like she did it to me directly. It's over. It's past. She isn't hurting me. She didn't tell my dad to attack me. How can we punish her for something that happened in the past? Why can't I put her part in the fiasco behind me? Why am I not allowed to FORGIVE her part in it? Isn't that what we're always told to do? Find 'forgiveness' in our hearts? You all are mad, on my behalf. Great. Wonderful. I feel loved! Yay! But she's an old woman now. She's my mother. I love her. And I forgive her. No, I will never forgive him. Not for the past, and not for the now. I wish he'd DIED in Vietnam. Nothing would have changed. My mother and I would have just... continued on. But it doesn't change anything NOW! I... don't want to be mad at her. Isn't that worth something?"

"Since when do you forgive... anyone?" Wilson asked, holding his hands up, almost in surrender and giving him an almost imploring look.

House scoffed. "You're an idiot. I forgive people... all the damn time. I just don't make a production of it. I forgave Stacy, when she was here. I forgave Cuddy for her part. Else, I wouldn't work with her as well as I do. Sure, we bicker, but there is no hatred in it. I forgave Chase quicker and easier than you did for the Volger thing. I forgive you, all the damn time, for the lies you tell me. For the things you conspire to do, against me. For all the times YOU betrayed me. You did it with good intentions, usually. And, so did my mother. Her intentions were at least well meant. I forgive on a regular basis, you dumb ass! If I didn't, I wouldn't have a job, friends, or... anything really!"

Wilson tipped his head back and rubbed his eyes before finally nodding. "I'm... finding that awful hard to argue with. But, what if you testify against your dad, and she holds it against YOU for doing so. For putting her husband in jail?"

House blinked and looked away. "Then... then it will be a new issue. And I'll deal with it as it comes. If she decides never to talk to me again? So be it. She had the option of understanding, as I tried to understand her. If she fails it, then it is her failure, not mine."

Chase sighed and leaned back further into his bed. Damn it. Every time he thought he saw the whole picture? There was more corner revealed, changing the picture. One more facet cleared to change the way the light curved. One more crack in the mirror that distorted everything again. Nothing and no one was straight forward. Everyone had a secret, different side, or more to them than what met the eye. This puzzle was huge. But every little piece, gave him just that much more insight into House and helped them fit together just that bit more.

Wilson let out a slow breath. "All right. Well... I'll... champion your side, as always." He finally nodded. He looked over at Chase.

Chase finally nodded. How could he honestly tell the man not to forgive someone? He admitted his mother had been 'wrong', but that he'd accepted it and wanted to move 'on'. He just couldn't forgive the man he considered the instigator. The man that still tried to dictate his son's life, and how it should be lived. He nodded again. He still didn't like Blythe, but he could make himself accept that House did.

"Wilson?" He asked quietly. He had an idea, not only to be near House, but for his own sake. His own need for 'comfort'.

"Yeah?" The other doctor looked back over.

"Would it be too corny and annoying to ask you to rearrange the room just... a bit?" Chase grimaced.

Wilson gave him a look, as did House. But then Wilson smiled a little as understanding dawned on him. "Liiiike, if I move the dressers beside each of you, out of the way, as well as the chairs, and just kind of..." He gestured his hands to move together.

Chase nodded.

"Cool." House said quietly. "He is moving in next door! Now I don't have to go across town for our date." He sounded tired, but he was making the effort, at least. That was a good sign. He sounded drained, and honestly Chase had figured House would forget about trying to 'have a date'. He'd considered the rest of the day a wash out. But House had a weird habit of bouncing back, even if he had to force himself to.

The furniture was lightweight and Wilson didn't really have that much trouble moving things around. The biggest problem was of course, moving the beds closer together and then putting their brakes on so they would lock and not roll further. He also tried to make sure that life saving equipment could still be in reach, if necessary. All in all, there was enough space between the beds for a nurse to walk between them, and more importantly for one of them to reach across and touch the other. It was like they were sitting together, almost.

"Now... I... take it you want me to load all the DVDs in and then give you the remote?" Wilson asked even as he started to open up one of the box sets. It was a five disk changer, so all he had to do was 'skip disk' to move from one to the other.

"Yes, and then you can go for the day, if you want. Or stay. Hang out a while." House said grandly, as though conveying a great favor on Wilson.

"Hmmm, well, you know... traditionally, a chaperon was..." Wilson pretended to think about it, stroking his chin and squinting. "I probably should stay, make sure that you don't try to get too frisky."

"Like I'm really going to ravish him with a healing back and leg?" House snorted softly.

"Who said anything about you?" Wilson joked. "Chase is the one that suggested the beds be moved closer together. I'm starting to question his intentions here. I don't think they are at all honorable." He widened his eyes. "He might try to get to second base if we're not careful. Don't you want to be able to wear white at the wedding?"

"Way too late for that, Jimmy-boy." Greg intoned. "Waaaay too late!"

"Well!" Wilson huffed, rolling his eyes, and pretending to scoff. "You harlot!"

But he still sat down in the chair on the other side of House, and then handed the remote to him.

"You're leaving around dinner, that is when the date starts in earnest. And I'm not having you ruin it, by... by... being well... you." House smiled, as though proud of himself.

Wilson just rolled his eyes and then smiled. "Hey you, no holding hands." He waved a finger at Chase who had been sneaking his hand through the rails toward House's bed.

"What? I wasn't doing anything." Chase denied, trying to remember how to pout 'just right'.

"Don't give me that look. I don't fall for that look." Wilson waved a finger from side to side. "You have evil carnal intentions for Greg. And even though he's a terrible terrible harlot. I have to protect his virtue."

"Why? He has no virtue. Just... lots of vices!" Chase laughed. This was better. This was... pulling the situation back to rights. Letting House relax and drop the tenseness from his shoulders. He needed this kind of 'interaction' right now.

"Because it is more fun this way." Wilson told him. "Greg, Greg, no no... you're encouraging him by putting your hand out there."

"But mooooooooom..." House whined. Chase thought it was good he could still joke about such a thing so soon.

"No, no... you mustn't encourage him. Why have the cow when you can get the milk for free?" Wilson intoned.

"Did you just call me fat?" House asked, aghast.

"Nooooo... I... called you... okay I called you fat. But considering you're not, it shouldn't be that big of an issue. Besides, you need to slow down on those beers, if you are to fit into a wedding dress." Wilson lectured as the menu finally showed up.

"Do you notice how obsessed he is with weddings?" House asked Chase in a conversational tone. "I always thought it was because he desired to be wed himself. I'm starting to think it is because he has a fantasy of being a Jewish Mother. And why the HELL do you have ME in the dress?" He finally demanded. "Chase is way prettier!"

"Because... I know your measurements, and Chase would be too easy to pick on in that regard. You make better faces whenever I say it." Wilson told him. "Now, for color coordination... I was thinking... pink, white, and silver..."

House looked around. "Where... I need to find something I can use as a projectile or a weapon."

"Nope, nothing..." Wilson grinned. "I cleverly removed everything you could actually remove from the bed and toss."

For the next half hour, he plotted, planned, and verbally created their... or rather his... fantasy wedding for them. House was begging him to shut up by the end, and pleading with the nurse to bring him his 'good pills'. After the third 'buzz' she told him she would not come back unless Dr. Wilson had been visually confirmed to be out of the room. And then House spent a good ten minutes demanding to know why RJ wasn't at his beck and call, shift change be damned.

Chase chuckled. "Well, you knew he'd torture you back..."

"Shush, or I won't give you my jello." House sulked.

Wilson gave an evil chuckle. He'd just begun!

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	69. Chapter 69

Interlude 14

The display on her cell phone did not give away a phone number. Instead, it said 'Private Call'. Which generally meant that the person that was phoning had the number blocked so as not to reveal their phone number at all. Sneaky people! She didn't really like private calls, but she also didn't have a real reason to not answer it. It could after all be a client in need of something quickly.

"Hello?" She asked, curious. Her head cocked to the side and her eyes narrowed, she was a bit apprehensive. There was always the possibility it was someone that didn't like her, or had issues with a past case.

Across from the table from her, her husband raised his brows, mouthing 'Who is it?' He looked vaguely worried, probably by her facial expression.

She shook her head and waved him away. She didn't know yet! Shush!

"Is this Stacy... Warner?" The voice asked, almost uncertain as though he'd read it off some piece of paper, just now. "What kind of name is Warner? Makes you sound like one of those cartoon brats or as though you should be in charge of a television studio."

"Yes, this is Stacy Warner. Whom may I ask is calling?" She asked, as politely as she could under the circumstances. Her frown took on an irritated and annoyed flavor. The voice sounded familiar. And the attitude was very off-putting.

"This is Thomas Turner. You probably don't recall who I am..."

"Ah, yes... Yes, I do." She quickly said, her eyes widening slightly. What the hell? Why would he... Damn, he was still an ass! "I'm rather surprised you remember ME. Why... are you calling me? This doesn't have anything to do with Greg does it?"

She might as well cut to the chase. She propped her chin up in her hand and sighed heavily into the phone. Mark tightened his lips, folded the newspaper and threw it down on the table. "Hang up." He told her.

Stacy shook her head. "Not yet." She told him. "I want to hear what kind of trouble he's in this time. It'll be good. Entertainment, maybe." She sounded disgruntled, and knew it.

She'd been willing to give up her marriage to Mark. She had wanted to go back to Greg. And the bastard had rejected her, after wooing her, and then sent her home to the man he'd 'won' her from in the first place. She figured she had a right to be disgruntled.

Turner gave a low chuckle. "It isn't anything he's at fault for. I wouldn't be bothering you, except I promised to call a lawyer, in order to keep him in bed. He's being a moron, as usual. And you're the only lawyer I know so far in New Jersey."

"So are you practicing medicine here now?" She asked, a little surprised. She'd sort of suspected he was in the state, because why call her from out of state? The only thing that tied them together at any point was Greg. "Wait, what do you mean keep Greg in... is he hurt again?" She blinked, straightening up. She'd heard he had been shot, the year before. But had successfully resisted the temptation to go check on him. He'd made it clear that he didn't want her in his life anymore. "Why does he need a lawyer?"

"Ahhhh, that's where the complications come in. Greg's dad is a jerk, and a bastard, annnnd, when Greg told him that he didn't want to see him anymore, as well as came out of the closet and fessed up to wanting man-love from his boy-toy... well the man went crazier than he normally was, and attacked Greg. He and Greg got in a knock down drag out, and then he shoved Greg's head into a wall as hard as he could, gave him a concussion that caused swelling that had to be relieved..." Turner relayed all the information in an even and neutral tone. As though he were bored and reading something aloud out of the paper with no inflection or interest.

Stacy shook her head, scrunching her eyes closed and waved a hand she knew Turner could not see. "Whoa, back up. What? Greg isn't gay! I think I would have noticed if he was gay!"

Mark's eyes widened and his lips twitched slightly. He was amused and strangely looked hopeful. Did he really worry after all this time that Stacy would leave him and go back to Greg? Well, true, it had nearly happened once, but... still.

"Okay, bi-sexual with an emphasis on the hot and heavy penis action." Turner said with a sigh. "All I know, is that he's got a boyfriend, they cuddle up with one another, and there's hand holding, hair petting, and sweet talking. It's all rather nauseatingly sweet. Seriously, I might get diabetes from this. So... yeah, get over your issues, and focus on MINE! Which is, I need to hire a lawyer, for something which I've not even finished telling you about." He said in a trace of annoyance.

Stacy was still in shock.

"Oh, my god, he was telling me the truth? I thought he was JOKING! But maybe he was doing that weird thing he sometimes does of telling the truth when you think it is a joke or lie, just to see how you'll take it first. I totally thought he was just trying to be extra annoying at the time!" She looked around her kitchen in amazement. "He said he was gay, and that it 'explained' everything from his shoes, to not having a girlfriend, to hanging out with Wilson... oh, my GOD, is he dating WILSON?" She gasped, hand at her throat.

This put everything in a new light! If he sent her away because... well, Wilson did keep trying to 'chase her off'. He said he was the one picking up the pieces after she left. Oh, this was a... there was nothing wrong with her! He didn't send her away because of- of- of revenge or something like that! He was telling the truth. He wouldn't have made her happy eventually. Not to mention, Wilson would probably continue to glare at her from the side lines. He probably was just working through the last dregs of denial, and she was his last attempt! He was needing closure! He tried it with her, and it still didn't give him what he needed! She didn't feel nearly as bad...

"Okay, can we please get off the homo-erotic part of this? No, he's not dating Wilson. Probably scared off by the divorce rate and those butt ugly shoes he wears. Either that, or he's already HAD Wilson and they broke up and are just friends now. I don't know. I don't CARE!" Turner huffed. "He's dating the Aussie, guy. The one that is too pretty to be straight. Blond? I don't know... Allison could probably describe him. I barely noted the essentials... I can describe his heart and valves better than his face."

"CHASE! Robert Chase? Chase is nearly young enough to be his SON! Oh, my god! How did he land someone that young?" She asked, pressing a hand to her cheek with her eyes wide. She nearly started to smile and then snorted. "Greg is a lucky son of a bitch. Chase is cuuuute." She was just so amazed and shocked and... rambling.

"Yes, wonderful! Greg eventually will get wild man-sex. Can we PLEASE move on?" Turner groaned quietly. "You can gossip later with Cuddy and Allison. Later. LATER! Laaaater. Let's concentrate on ME right now. Me, who is on the phone, who is, yes boringly straight. But trying to HIRE YOU! Now, are you ready to hear about the case I want you to take?"

"Oh, oh, I'm sorry... I just..." Stacy was flushing slightly. A bit embarrassed. "I was just... shocked. Please continue."

Meanwhile, Mark was pumping his fist in the air chanting under his breath. 'Yes, yes, yes!'

Oh, yeah, he was celebrating that Greg was apparently 'not a threat' anymore, ever. She gave him a thin rueful smile, once more propping her chin up in her fist, rolling her eyes at her husband.

"Thank you!" Turner said sarcastically. "Anyway, there is a cop named Tritter that did the arresting of Uncle John. But according to Greg, he has a desire for revenge on HIM, and that he's using this case to try and rake Greg over the coals indirectly. Because, Tritter also arrested Aunt Blythe. Greg said he's willing to testify against his dad, but he wants his mom out of trouble, charges dropped. He tried to get out of bed, hole in his head, blood full of morphine, and gimpy leg and all, to try and get her out of trouble. So I told him, I would hire a lawyer if he stayed in bed. So, are you willing to take the idiot's case? Personally, I'd let her rot too, but Greg's being all... sentimental." He said the word with distaste.

Stacy frowned. "I'm just taking Blythe's right? Not John's? You do realize I'm technically a Constitutional Lawyer, not a Criminal Lawyer?"

"Right." Turner agreed. "And you're supposed to be smart. You'll do fine. Stretch yourself. Besides I bet you can turn this into some kind of... media event... say her Constitutional rights to be old and annoying were being violated. I don't care. Just as long as the gimp stays in bed."

"I'll... be right down." She agreed, almost reluctantly. Taking this case meant once more stepping back into his 'world'. Even if for a short period of time. But, at least, this time there shouldn't be sexual tension nor Wilson breathing down her neck.

"I'm going to." Mark warned her. She merely nodded, already trying to figure out in her head what to pack. Making a mental list as she started toward the bedroom.

Mark was fairly 'dancing' though. "He's gay, he's gay, hurray he's gay, this, has made, my daaaaayyyyyyy. Oy vey, he's gay, hurray! Yay, yay, hurrayyyyy for the gay!"

Stacy rolled her eyes once more at Mark's antics and gave him a small smile before lifting a brow. "Should I be the one jealous now?"

Mark chuckled. "NOPE! I'm allllll yours, baby!" Still he snapped his fingers and danced his jig, singing under his breath. He looked so relieved. She rolled her eyes one last time and started to pack for them both.

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	70. Chapter 70

Chase smiled, his eyes still closed.

He was gradually waking, and didn't want to lose the contented warm feeling. He was comfortable. He'd fallen asleep on his side, his left arm through the railing of the bed, extended somewhere in the center. He could feel a warm light weight on top of his wrist. It was loose, and just laying there. Fingers? But he remembered that at some point, the hand had held his.

House was breathing deep and even. He was still asleep, probably laying on his back, so as not to press on his leg.

With a happy sigh, he thought back to the night before. They'd ended up staying awake long into the early morning hours before House had finally surrendered to going to sleep. Chase realized at about eleven that night that House was purposely trying to derail all trains of thought by keeping it busy with unimportant talk, and the DVDs. He didn't want to 'think' about the near future, and Chase could surely remember that feeling more than once. So he had kept it up as much as possible, despite his eyelids drooping.

At about midnight, House had figured out how to drop the railings on both beds without falling out, and had come to 'visit'. He'd joked to Chase about not telling Wilson that he'd gotten to 'first base' tonight. Otherwise he might insist on chaperoning them all the time. But it had been... nice. Despite the brace on his back and his leg, which both were starting to really irritate him at this point, he'd found that if he laid just right on his left side, he could put his head on House's shoulder, and House could wrap his arm around Chase. Without hurting either one of them. Of course, with the comfortable seating arrangement, Chase had started to fall asleep in earnest. But he'd done his best to keep up with House, at least, until the night nurse came in and 'caught them'. She had not been pleased and had lectured them on 'potentially hurting themselves further by accidentally applying pressure, falling out of bed, or some other accident. She'd told them they would get out in another day or so, and they could play 'patty cake' then!

House had glared at her as she scooted between the beds and ordered him back into his own, threatening to get the straps out. Of course, House couldn't leave that alone! "The only one allowed to strap me down, is Chase. And he knows what he's doing, and I'll at least get an orgasm out of it. All you strapping me down will get me is nightmares about sour prunes, and my testicles trying to crawl back up inside my body!"

He'd then, in defiance, told her that he should at least get to kiss his 'date' good night. And that she was not 'his guardian with a shot gun standing on the porch so she could wait a moment!'

With a chuckle, Chase had relaxed as House leaned in and make a huge production of their goodnight kiss. Dragging it out as long as they could. He'd closed his eyes as their lips touched. The prickle of House's returning stubble poked him, and scratched his skin. Chase had shaved, as usual, whereas House had told them to 'get that razor away from me'. The contrast made his breath quicken slightly and he moaned softly as House deepened the kiss, opening his mouth and slipping the quick and often 'sharp' tongue inside.

House's hand cupped the back of Chase's neck as they continued to kiss, nipping, licking at times before diving deeper for fuller and more intimate kisses. It felt so good, and the sensation was dizzying as he realized that part of the overwhelming sensation was from having not felt this kind of touch in a long time. Kissing can lose its allure when one cannot really feel it around the mouth. But now? The feeling had returned, and the feel of the stubble, and the wet hotness made him gasp and try to pull House closer. He felt something quicken in his stomach, the slight tightening... another feeling he'd not felt in months. He wasn't quite getting hard, thanks to the pain meds. But it was a near thing. And given enough time, oh yeahhhhhh... He would have achieved such. That in itself was a kind of relief!

He gasped and dropped his hand to House's hip, forgetting about the nurse as he was lost in sensation that for once was not about 'pain' and 'discomfort'.

"AHEM!" The nurse ended up nearly yelling. Her arms over her chest, her lips pursed in irritation and annoyance. "Back in your own beds, now!"

"You're just jealous because my boyfriend is hot, and yours probably requires D batteries and a drawer!" House told her with a dark look, but finally broke away to scoot back over to his own bed. She pulled the railings up with a snap and a glare before stomping out, turning off the television, and shutting down the lights further.

"What a bitch." House grumped. "Now that? That is the epitome of cock-blocking!"

It was then that Chase had smiled at him, turned over onto his left side and stretched his arm and hand through the railing. Reaching for House. House had laid down, and without directly looking at him, did the same thing. Touching and then grasping his hand. Chase had fallen asleep after that.

Cracking his eyes open now, he watched House sleeping. He wasn't tossing and turning, but he was moving his head slightly. Dreaming. His eyes rapidly moving under his lids and his left leg pulled up a bit. The pressure on his wrist became a grasp for a moment and then relaxed again.

Chase frowned, watching as House lifted his leg again, and then straightened it. It was his left one, so it was doubtful it was in response to pain. His breath was becoming harsher, almost a pant, and he was turning his head from side to side. Chase rolled his wrist over and grasped House's. "House! House, wake up! You're... dreaming! Wake up!" He tugged on the wrist and was rewarded with House snapping his eyes open.

He didn't gasp, and he didn't look particularly frightened. Just almost shocked.

"Bad dream?" Chase asked, almost hesitant to do so. Some people got almost defensive about their nightmares. As though having had one was a weakness. But everyone had bad dreams some times! What worried him at the moment, was what he was potentially dreaming about in the first place.

"Not... exactly. Just... I think it could have been." He rubbed his eyes and then pinched his nose. Tired, his defenses tended to be more at rest.

"What were you dreaming?" Chase asked, curious, and half doubtful that House would actually answer. He suspected it was about his parents. That's why he was surprised when House actually started to tell him.

"We were in a car, in a town that I used to live in, for a really short time. Maybe about three months? I really doubt you've actually ever been there. It was in the Midwest. And it was... still the seventies. No idea why the hell you were there, either." He closed his eyes, pressing his free hand against his head. "But we were driving in this old GTX that my dad owned back then. Cool car, by the way. And we just kept, running up and down and then around in what was pretty much a circuit. Past K-mart, down in front of the radio station, and then back toward the Steak N' Shake. But the weather was getting bad, and I wanted us to go home. But I couldn't find the right route. K-mart, radio station, Steak N' Shake." House snorted. "And that is when I noticed the twisters. I was trying to figure out which direction they were going, so I could go in the opposite. I decided to do a U-y, only to realize that there were about three or four, that kept splitting and then regrouping and then splitting off again in front of us, when I tried to go back the way we started, that's when I saw what was probably an F-4 or more likely an F-5. It was HUGE and it was bearing down from the opposite side. I had a choice between several F-1s, and one large F-5 that was sure to kill us if I didn't get us the hell out of there. You woke me up as we were being battered to the side in the car by one of the little ones... and the F-5 was trying to turn in our direction, and follow us."

He dropped into silence, leaving Chase to stare at him. His eyes were wide, and he was barely blinking. He was surprised by how detailed it was, as well as the fact he'd been in it. Not to mention that House told him in the first place!

"Weird, huh?" House asked, finally opening his eyes again.

"Uh..." Chase blew out a breath of air, blinking as he thought. "Um... sounds very... symbolic." He finally said. "You're trying to figure out... stuff. I guess. I know that... that tornadoes are supposed to be symbolic of not having control of your life and situations. Sounds like... like you have a huge out of control situation as well as several smaller situations that you can't control as well. They're probably representing different people that are in your life and... steering... You're... trying to figure out what route to take to re-take control and keep us safe from the consequences of each situation, and... and... which situation we could weather with the least damage. The F-5 is, at a guess... your dad? The F-1s as you called them are... are... your... Uncle, Aunt, Mum, and I dunno... just... everyone else. Alternately, you could look at it that the F-5 is the trial and the legal situations, including that of your mum, and the F-1s could be our smaller problems such as... injuries, working in the same hospital while having a relationship, dealing with... new arrangements. Just little annoyances. Perhaps even bigotry and homophobia, because you know there's bound to be some put on display!"

He stopped abruptly as he realized that House was staring at him intently, eyes narrowed, and giving him a critical look. He once more had that feeling of being examined and studied.

"What?" He asked, disconcerted by that hawk-like look and silence.

"You. Took. Psychology!" House accused, as though Chase had just revealed that he had committed some terrible crime in the past.

Chase fought the smile and instead made himself look sorry and contrite, holding his finger and thumb apart by a small inch. "Only... a little. Not much! Honest! Annnnd, I had to have a psyche rotation, of course!"

"Youuuuuu... took PSYCHOLOGY!" House shook his finger at him now.

"Just a class or two. I promise I'm not really an amateur psychologist! Really. Not psycho-analyzing you! I just took an interest in dreams and did research on the side because I used to have bad and weird dreams and... wanted to understand what they COULD mean!" Chase held up his hands in surrender. "I used to dream about all my teeth falling out! I still do sometimes!"

House still looked a bit disgruntled, but then asked. "What does that mean supposedly?"

"That, again, I had no control over my life, but further more? I have no SAY in my life. I'm expected to obey and do as I'm told without question, without speaking out, without giving my opinion." Chase shrugged.

"Bet you had that one a lot when you were in my Fellowship." House snorted, shaking his head with a smirk.

Chase made a small amused noise. "Yeah. A lot. But I still have it, and those have nothing to do with you, these days. I had them a lot when I was with Allison, and whenever I have a bad day at work. And sometimes, recently, because I'm... stuck... immobile. I want to get up, and walk and move around! Sometimes though, I dream I'm really paralyzed. Or that my legs are missing, completely. It's really... I've been ignoring it, but it is really starting to bother me."

House looked down and took a deep breath, lifting his brows. "I can... I know what those are like. And what it feels like to want to get up, run, and not be able to. But you'll walk again."

Chase shifted, uncomfortable. His back and leg were throbbing at this point and he was looking forward to seeing his pain pill. "I hope so." He whispered.

"You will." House told him as RJ hurried in, pills in hand.

"Breakfast and drugs!" The man said cheerfully. "And I heard from the night nurse, you miiiiiiissed me! I knew you liked me!" He said with a smile. "I grew on you. Like fungus!"

House grabbed his meds cup and tossed back the pills as though it were nothing. Chase used water to take his. House glared at RJ. "That's a dirty dirty lie... well about liking you. You being like fungus? I can't argue. I like no one. I'm a grumpy old man!" He insisted.

"Whatever you say, Dr. H." RJ grinned, bringing in the trays and uncovering them for the men.

"Is he giving you a rough time?" Wilson smiled, hands in his lab coat pockets as he stepped in. "I heard you gave one of the night nurses quite a show! I don't quite know what she expects me to do about it? But she was pretty upset. I told her, it could be worse. You two could be ambulatory and have found a storage closet!"

Chase flushed slightly and rolled his eyes. "That was not all my fault. I had... help."

House was snickering though. "It entertained ME at the time!"

"She was trying to make you jealous." Chase sighed and shook his head.

"Yeahhhhh didn't work. All it did was make me laugh and gave me fodder to gossip with Wilson!" House leered. "Of course, now? Now, I think that storage closet idea has merit. We should keep it on board for later consideration! Preferably, when Cuddy is lurking around and can find us."

Wilson laughed, shaking his head. "Turner wanted to me to tell you that he hired a lawyer for your mother." He said more seriously by the end. "And that the lawyer will probably be here sometime today to talk to you, to try and get details for information that might help. So be nice, and don't scare him or her off. Remember, this is for your mom!"

"I'll be good." House promised, fingers crossed at his side.

"Houuuuse..." Wilson said in a warning voice.

"Of course, I'll behave." House scoffed. "You just go play with your baldies."

"I am." Wilson said in a patronizing voice before making a swipe at House's head.

House swiped at the hand that was near his head and they lightly slapped at each other for a few seconds before Wilson grinned and took off, leaving them alone with their breakfast.

House was quiet and then said. "We need to get the hell out of here. I can't stand this either. Not knowing what the hell is going on, out there. No one is bringing all the information. Just bits and pieces." House bit into his toast, and chewed. But Chase could see the light in his eyes. The man was plotting.

It was possible they would get to go 'home' as soon as tomorrow if House promised to take it easy and got checked regularly while healing further. House was very lucky he'd had no complications or neuro-effects. A lot of people would still be loopy, confused, disoriented, and otherwise laid up without a chance in hell of going home yet! He was one lucky son of a bitch at this point!

Unfortunately, House was not known for being particularly patient. House didn't like not having all the information.

Of course, Chase had to at least put the suggestion out there. "Tomorrow we could probably get them to release us."

"By tomorrow, Tritter could be racking up more charges and have my mother a leader of a terrorist group. Going around blowing up buildings with yarn and knitting needles, or something." He shoveled his eggs into his mouth and then drank his coffee. "This coffee sucks." He commented as he switched between subjects seamlessly. "And eggs should not bounce when dropped." He demonstrated and Chase had to admit he had a point about that.

Chase's breakfast was... he couldn't identify it, and it was bland. So it didn't matter.  
"I'm sure the lawyer will prevent that." Chase tried to assure.

"Yeah, right. I don't even know who he hired." House scoffed in annoyance. "He could have hired Lionel Hutz for all I know!"

"I'd like to think I'm at least as good as Lionel Hutz." Stacy said as she stepped in with a business like quickness, her shoes clicking against the tile.

"Chase! Take cover! This one is at LEAST an F-2!" House called out suddenly to the other man, taking his pillow and putting it over his own face. "We're doomed. Sound the siren! Call the Weather Channel!"

"Now, is that any way to talk to your mother's lawyer?" Stacy gave him a small smirk. "Come on Greg. No hard feelings, all right? And... what the hell are you talking about anyway?"

He peeked out from under the pillow and narrowed his eyes. "Are you on drugs?"

"No, that is your schtick." She assured. "I just, figure, bygones! Now, your cousin called me last night, and Mark and I came down just as soon as we could. He's at the hotel right now, but wants to meet me and Blythe for lunch to discuss her case."

"Mark came down too. What? Afraid of me putting the old moves on you?" House asked, leering at her. "Well, at least he realizes which one of us is the sexier of the two."

Chase growled, and scowled. He was surprised by the flare of jealousy and heat that flashed through him. At the same time, he felt everything 'tighten' and the hair stand up on his arms and the back of the neck.

Stacy laughed, taking a look at Chase's facial expression and finding it amusing. "Somehow? I do NOT think that will be a problem." She pointed at Chase and House looked over.

"Whoa... possessive." House stated. "I like it!" He suddenly decided, raising his brows and grinning. He switched his leer to Chase. "But I still refuse to wear the collar. It'll make my neck chafe!"

"Okay, you two. Down. You can do that kind of stuff later. After I've called Lisa up with the video camera." Stacy took a seat to one side of House and pulled out her notebook, smirking.

"Video camera? Kinky!" House leaned forward and grinned. "I like how you think! Foursome!"

"Not quite, big boy! Strictly gay porn. And not lesbian before you suggest it! We figure there's a market for this kind of thing!" Stacy assured him. "We already have the plot set up. Superficial as it is, which, how often do porns have real plots anyway?" She waved a dismissive hand, her pen still between her fingers. 

"Picture it, two patients trying to have sex... Of course, it'll be funny watching you two try to get into a position that doesn't kill your leg, his leg, his back, or your head! But maybe we can market it as a comedy-porn!" She beamed. "It'll be like if Laurel and Hardy were gay!"

"Hey! We have a deep and meaningful and complex plots going on here! Weeee have... drama, angst, hurt and comfort and... and... gratuitous sexual references. Which reminds me, Chase, wanna play doctor and take my temperature later?" He waggled his eyebrows. "Stacy could be your nurse!"

"Greg..." Stacy's eyes flashed and she was already coming up with a zinger.

Chase sighed and rolled his eyes. "See, this always happens." He crossed his arms over his chest and looked at House. "Do you think you could possibly get through this without it turning into a production where I have to drag you over here into THIS bed, and then have her glaring and being... pissy... because the last time I had to deal with her in lawyer mode when you'd set her off, it wasn't pretty! No offense, Mrs. Warner. So please stop using your weird way of flirting to set her off?" He was glaring so hard his eyes were starting to hurt.

House looked amused and ended up grinning. He also looked vaguely and disturbingly fascinated. "You really get jealous, don't you? That is... so... dare I say it? I dare! Cute!"

Chase growled again and glared even harder. House laughed in response and flipped the side rail down, and then Chase's before pushing Chase to the side and climbing in. "There? Feel better? She's not going to throw me over her shoulder and haul me off." He promised. "I'm not interested in her anymore." But he was still smirking. "I just like to poke her with a spoon and see what she'll do."

Stacy rolled her eyes and looked vaguely amused herself. "Trust me, I'm over Greg. I'm happily married. Now, if you two are done getting snuggled together..."

"I do not snuggle!" House denied, even though he had his arm around Chase's shoulder at this point. But Chase figured that if called on, that House would say it was so he didn't fall out of bed or something. "This is not snuggling. This is... being supportive!" He said with an air of importance.

"Well, now that you're being 'supportive', something you've never really been before either, let's get down to business." Stacy told them, once more positioning herself to write.

"Now she takes her clothes off... got any dollar bills?" He asked Chase, holding out his free hand.

"Greg!"  
"House!"

"Yikes! Stereo! Wow!" House threw his arm up in front of his face, as though to shield himself.

"Get serious. You want to help your mother, right?" Stacy huffed at him.

Chase pressed his lips together. "He's purposely trying to deflect and put us off, as a stall tactic. Because he doesn't want to discuss the past and avoid the potential for any personal and probably painful questions."

House once more narrowed his eyes at him and peered at him as though trying to look inside. "Stop being all... psychological!" He told him, shaking a finger at him.

"I'm not. I'm being... logical!" Chase told him, eyes wide and wiggling his fingers in a 'mystical' way, while opening his mouth a little. "Ooooooo..."

"Logic? What is this... logic you speak of?" House asked, as though interested. He tilted his head, and furrowed his brow. "Tell me more!"

"It's a bit like being reasonable, but there's more facts involved." Chase said, trying to sound like his old teachers. "You have to use reasoning, and then go from there!"

"Ohhhh well, see there's the problem. I don't know how to be reasonable yet." House said sadly.

Chase gave him a sympathetic pout and hugged him. "Just do the best you can, that's all we can ask. Here's a starter point... don't insult, flirt, leer, or otherwise try to provoke her for the next half hour!"

"Oh, man, that's harsh!" House made a face. "Next you'll be asking me not to breathe!"

"I know, it's hard the first time. But I promise you will survive. I'm here for you. All the way! Rooting you on!" Chase sighed, petting his arm in a comforting manner. "Now... let's give it a go, shall we?"

"We shall!" House agreed, his Australian accent was horrible and made Chase wince, but Chase said nothing on the subject.

"Are we done now?" Stacy asked, slightly amused, slightly exasperated. Which was a typical feeling when it came to House for a lot of people.

House nodded. "Shoot!"

"Now, can you tell me what happened? I know that is a broad question, but I think if we start with the incident that landed you in the hospital as a patient. Then we can narrow it down. I think the important thing is to try and keep the court focused on the incident itself and the aftermath. That of the present and here and now. I'm afraid they are going to try and bring the past into it. I have a feeling I'm going to be using the word 'objection', a lot." She grimaced and poised her pen, ready for House to begin.

It took longer than the half hour that Chase had estimated, but by the end. Stacy finally nodded and closed her notebook. Stacy hadn't quite managed to look House in the eye by the time he was done answering her questions. So far, Chase hadn't heard anything new. House had said the things he had the night before, as well as giving more detail about the argument that led to him walking out of his office and down the hallway when the attack occurred. But again, he'd heard enough about it since then that nothing was new to Chase.

Stacy looked very unhappy as she stood, straightening her clothing before saying. "I..."

"Don't say sorry." House warned in a dark undertone.

"Okay. I won't." She sighed and looked toward the ceiling. "Just... get better, then."

With that, she turned and hurried out the door.

Both men were silent, but it wasn't strained. It simply 'was'. It was comfortable silence. House turned on the television, tuned the channel, and Chase was 'there'. All they could do now really, was sit and wait. He laid his head once more on House's shoulder, resting his right hand on the older man's stomach while House idly ran his hand up and down Chase's shoulder.

He wasn't as surprised as he probably thought he should be when House asked quietly. "Wanna break out of here?"

Chase sighed and closed his eyes. He really should have known that was coming. He chuckled silently. "Got a plan?" He finally asked, knowing he did usually go with House's wild ideas.

"Ohhhh yeah." House smirked.

At least, life was not boring with House around.

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	71. Chapter 71

Interlude 15

When it appeared that Mark was somehow, inadvertently making Mrs. House uncomfortable, he excused himself with an agreeable smile and said he was going back upstairs. He hadn't planned to stay for the actual discussion anyway. He'd just wanted to hear about the hospital visit, get something to eat, meet the woman that helped 'create' Greg House, and then go back upstairs. But Mrs. House had been quiet, tight lipped, and nervous the entire lunch. So as soon as Mark had scarfed his food down, he was 'gone'.

After he'd disappeared through the doorway, Blythe gave Stacy a tight smile. "He seems... nice." She said, looking very awkward as she looked back down at her plate. It was still almost completely food. She'd merely picked at it the entire time.

"He is." Stacy assured. "He had no intention of making you uncomfortable. I think he mainly wanted to have lunch. He's been fed, so now he'll be happy."

Blythe gave a small laugh, but it sounded false and completely forced. "You know, we always thought so highly of you. We'd always hoped that, that Greg would straighten up and... bad choice of words, apparently. But that he'd finally ask you to marry him, and maybe have his own family for us to spoil in our old age."

Stacy gave her a strained smile and shook her head. "No, I don't think that would have ever happened, even if I hadn't been the one to leave him first. And..." She sighed and figured she might as well destroy another illusion while she was at it. "And, I never wanted children. So... there would never have been grandchildren anyway. I told him that from the outset. And, Greg did ask me to marry him, once. I said no. I wasn't ready yet. Apparently, that was probably for the best that I did say no, since it would have ended in divorce."

Blythe looked a bit stunned by that revelation, blinking and then looking away. It had never occurred to her, Stacy supposed that, that someone might not want children. She also suspected that Blythe and John thought it was Greg that had dragged his feet on such issues when they were together. "Oh..." She said weakly. "I... see." she swallowed. "You... married Mark though?"

"Yes, by the time I met Mark? I felt ready and... that's really all you need to know. Blythe? I've heard Greg's account. Now, I really need to hear yours." Stacy turned to a new place in her notebook. She needed to get Blythe focused on the case, and not 'what could have beens' with Greg.

They were in a restaurant that was connected to the hotel that Stacy and Mark were staying in. There weren't many people around, and they were off in a distant corner. No one would bother them.

"I'm... not sure where to start." She finally sighed, slumping in her seat a little and giving Stacy a very unsure look.

Stacy nodded to herself. "Well, as they say, let's start at the beginning. What started the fight between your husband and Greg?"

Blythe was silent a moment as she collected her thoughts. "Well, we'd come because... well I had insisted. John wasn't too worried. But I was. Tommy had e-mailed everyone and said that Greg was depressed. I'd called, but he just... denied it. Of course. So I told John I wanted to come visit him, make sure he was all right."

"Blythe? Greg has been depressed for years. Literally, years!" Stacy held up his hand. "Surely you realized that? He was prone to depression even when he and I had gotten together. Before then! It couldn't have come as a surprise to you. What made this time so special?"

The older woman shook her head slightly, her eyes moist. "Is that important?"

"Yes. Of course it is!" Stacy gave an annoyed sigh. "Look, you might be called upon to talk in front of the court. If you can't even talk to me...?"

Blythe cleared her throat, wiped her eyes and then gave a curt nod. "All right. All right... I had a... a..." She frowned and shook her head. "A year and a half ago, I... found a lump."

Stacy's eyes widened. "Blythe! Oh, my god!" She opened her mouth and looked concerned. Finding a lump could be terrifying, and the results devastating. "Are you all right?"

Blythe nodded. "It scared the... the hell... out of me." She nodded again and swallowed. "I don't think John ever quite realized how serious it could have been. He doesn't really understand much about the whole, medical thing. He's always been healthy as a horse." She gently touched her own cheek and swallowed. "It was... very frightening. It turned out to be nothing much too it. But it really... it really..."

Stacy found herself nodding in agreement. "Brings everything into focus, hm?"

The other woman nodded with her, looking back down. "Yes, exactly. I thought to myself... what if I die tomorrow? What if I die in a few months? What if HE died? Got ran over by a bus?" She gave a weak smile at that, knowing how it sounded. "It just... it felt... imperative. I had to see my baby boy." She looked almost ready to cry. "And now I'm not allowed to see him at all."

"Blythe, we're trying to work that mess out. Just, try to be calm." Stacy said in a soothing tone. The last thing she needed was for Blythe to start crying.

"John wanted to just leave it alone. Greg is always trying to get out of seeing us. Avoiding our calls. Trying to come up with excuses... I just... wanted to see him and... get to the bottom of it. I mean, why is he so depressed? Why won't he just see us?" Blythe shook her head.

Stacy though had narrowed her eyes, tilting her head. "Wouldn't it be obvious? Blythe, I know about what John did to Greg." She said it in a stern voice that she kept quiet. "Why would Greg want to see someone that used to hurt him, made him feel like crap, and is always trying to tell him 'what he's done wrong in life'?"

The older woman seemed to lose all steam. "It... It wasn't nearly as bad as..."

"Just one time is bad." Stacy hissed. "And you let it happen. And I don't care that Greg is defending you and saying that he loves you and wants you to go free. That he 'forgives' you. I'm just..." She made an irritated noise. "I don't forgive you! How could you do that? You say you love him. And you still let your husband abuse your son."

"It wasn't abuse..."

"You can call it discipline all you want. It doesn't change the fact that it was abuse!" Stacy insisted. "There are people that abuse their children in the name of religion and 'God', and it still don't change that they abused the children. You can call it 'Tough Love' and it will still be abuse. No amount of spin doctoring will make what he did right!"

Blythe pressed her lips together and closed her eyes tightly. "He meant... well. You don't... He was trying to..."

"Force him to conform." Stacy said with a little sneer. "He was never meant to conform. That isn't who he was. Never will be. He was this... smart and brilliant child. He saw the world in a way no one else did. He's a genius. And your husband tried to destroy the spark of curiosity in him, trying to get him to be the perfect son."

"Greg is perfect the way he is." Blythe nodded, but looked off to the side as she said it.

"So you say. But if you really think that, why didn't you stop your husband? Or take Greg away from it?" The other woman demanded. "I'm not going to give you a free pass because you cry. I don't fall for tears. They just annoy me!"

"I love my husband, and I did try to... divert his... attention when I could. But I didn't want to leave him, and-and... John honestly wasn't trying to just... hurt him. He was trying to get Greg to do what we told him. He was so defiant as a child. Putting him in a corner didn't do anything. He'd just leave the corner. You could put him in the corner ten times, and he'd leave it each time. If I put him in his room, that was... that was like... nothing. It didn't change anything. Spanking? Didn't have any affect. We... we didn't know what to do." She shook her head, looking lost. "He seemed... oblivious to the normal punishments! They didn't deter him at all! He'd get so lost in his own little world, he could block out almost anything we said or did!"

"Well, you certainly do not shove a child in an ice bath. In 1996, a child nearly died from that kind of punishment. I'm sure if I looked up statistics, I could find a good sampling of children who HAVE died from it! Now I know why Greg was following the case so damn closely!" She had a faint tone to her voice, as new information connected to old. Greg had followed the case out of... She steeled herself and turned back on Blythe. Concentrated on her, instead of the memory of Greg's melancholy face reading each installment of the trial.

"He was trying to put a child under the age of 12 through what amounted to be 'boot camp'." Stacy told her in a harsh whisper. "Yes, Greg must have been a difficult child to deal with. I have no doubt in my mind that he was challenging, destructive, and a pain in the ass! But he could have been killed! And you would have stood by and let it happen!"

"No, John would never..." Blythe protested, almost hesitantly.

"You're in denial!" Stacy told her. "You are in denial and have been for YEARS! Your husband attacked your son, in a hallway at a hospital. He then shoved his head into a wall! A wall, Blythe! He could have been killed right then and there! People have died from ice baths, exposure outside, and just... Ooo!" She made an irritated noise, grinding her teeth, her hands tightly grasped into fists.

"So, I guess you really don't wish to take this case." Blythe looked away. She had the posture of a woman that was resigned to her fate, and had given up.

"If you were someone I just met? No. But I'm taking this case for Greg's sake. Not yours. I'm going to have to keep this case focused on the present rather than the past. Which, legally, they should anyway. But legal and emotional are as different as night and day." Stacy said tensely.

Blythe said nothing and just nodded.

"Tampering with a Witness, I figure comes from you directly asking Greg if he was going to talk to the policeman?" Stacy pressed her lips together.

Blythe nodded, still silent.

"I think we can get that thrown out, the conversation could be construed as innocent. As though you were just 'asking' rather than hinting that he shouldn't. Now, the false witness. You lied to the cops?" Stacy made an incredulous face.

Blythe reluctantly nodded. "I... he... he asked me if he'd ever... well... you know had been violent or had hurt Greg in he past..."

"And of course you said no." Stacy groaned to herself. "You should have said, I don't wish to answer without the presence of an attorney."

"I didn't realize that... that... well... I didn't know I'd be arrested for that." She confessed. "I just knew it would go worse for John otherwise."

"D'uh! But you wouldn't be in trouble now!" Stacy threw her hands up. Why did her clients always have to do the worst possible thing when it came to talking to authorities? And, of course, the police officer jumped right on the lie.

"What if it was Mark? Would you have thrown him over?" Blythe demanded, for the first time looking at least someone confident that she had a leg to stand on in this debate.

"I wouldn't have let Mark do that in the first place! IF I had a child, for whatever reason, and wanted to keep it. If my husband was abusive, I'd kick his ass out myself!" She swore. "Probably after I shot him 'in self defense'. I'm a lawyer, I'd know how to make it look right." She rolled her eyes a little and huffed. No man, not even Greg, would have ever gotten away with laying a rough hand on her, or someone she cared about. It was part of why she left Greg in the first place. Not that he'd hurt her physically, but he'd hurt her emotionally and mentally. And that was not going to keep happening. So, Infarction and Depression or not... she left him. She was not going to be his verbal punching bag, anymore than she was going to be a physical one.

Blythe just looked down, miserable. Her last 'defense' of her actions shot down. She hated confrontation, and Stacy knew it. But in order to win, you had to be willing to fight. If this woman wouldn't fight, how did she hope to manage to win at all? Ever? But then... maybe... maybe there was something she could use here. Play off the fact that she wouldn't fight. Wouldn't confront. That she seemed 'afraid'...

Stacy sat back and frowned, folding her arms over her chest as she gave Blythe a thoughtful look. "Blythe? I want you to be absolutely honest with me right now. No lies. No holding back."

The old woman nodded, looking slightly worried, but she nodded.

"Has John ever and I do mean EVER... struck or otherwise 'punished' you?" Stacy asked, eyes narrowed.

"It wasn't..." Blythe started, shifting in her seat, eyes darting from side to side as though to look for escape.

"I said, honest. No excuses. Just straight out answer." Stacy held up her hand and gave her a severe look. "Did he ever hit you, or otherwise 'discipline' you?"

Blythe nodded, but it was nervous and almost unsure. Embarrassed. Ashamed. Uncomfortable.

"Now, now explain. But don't 'excuse' his behavior." Stacy told her, holding up a finger.

"I... Well, he's not done it for a long time, mind you. But when we... first got married. Well, he didn't like it if... if I wasn't truthful with him. A marriage has to be based on truth. And if he found out I wasn't being truthful... well, yes... he would... 'straighten me out'." She frowned, looking down. "It wasn't unheard of back then. He wouldn't have even been arrested, depending on who came out, if I had called the police."

Stacy nodded, but looked irritated. Barbarians back then. Her feminist heart screamed at the injustice of it.

"He went to Vietnam though, and... well he was gone for quite a while. He kept putting in for more time, until eventually they said he couldn't come back anymore. Not there, at least. He would never really, well... he didn't explain why. But he was mad, and I just figured it had to do with the whole, they didn't want people over there for too long. I guess... I never really understood the politics that went on behind the orders. I do know he hated our new base assignment and he was... just... easily angered. For a long time, he was easily angered." She repeated, almost into her hand.

"He was so mad that I'd let Greg run so wild and had become uncontrollable. I hadn't realized I'd done such a bad job." She said almost helplessly. "I mean, I would ask Greg to do something, and normally... he'd do it. He was all smiles. A happy little boy the entire time that John was gone. I'm... I'm not sure what happened. But John came home, and John said he wasn't well-behaved. That he was defiant and rebellious. Wouldn't do anything he said. Greg would run to me, for protection, and that just made John madder. Said I'd made Greg into a... a girly boy. A momma's boy." She rubbed her forehead and sighed.

"John told me I had to stop... stop coddling him. That he had to get used to obeying orders." She frowned.

"At first, I tried to just... find a balance. Make both of them happy. But when John would catch me, well... let's say I really 'caught' it." She said ruefully. "He never did to me what he did to Greg, but that was because spanking me with a hairbrush was enough to make me... listen. It didn't work that way for Greg. He'd just... rebel more."

"When was the last time that John struck you?" Stacy asked, balancing her pen between her fingers and making it flick back and forth as she pursed her lips. Mentally, Stacy was drawing up her battle plan. There was a defense here. One that was credible and she could work with. One that had a chance of winning. 

"Oh, I don't know... maybe..." She thought about it. "I think he slapped me about... It was around the time of Greg's infarction in his leg. I can't even remember what it was we were specifically fighting about. But that was at least, what, nine years ago now?" She kind of shrugged.

"Do you think if you disobeyed him or caused him trouble these days? He'd try to correct you?" Stacy asked.

Blythe didn't answer, but she didn't really need to. It was in her eyes.

Finally, the older woman sighed once more looking down into her own lap. "I do love him."

"I know that. But if you want to have any chance of seeing your son again, and staying out of jail? You're going to have to finally, finally, choose between your son and your husband. I want you to think about that...HARD! Let me know which you choose. It's up to you. If you choose your husband? There's very little I can do to get you out of this mess. If you choose Greg? I think I have a strong enough case to get you off, but you might have to testify against John."

Blythe covered her face with her hands, and remained in that position, even after Stacy stood and left, paying the bill as she went.

-------------------------------------------------------------------- 


	72. Chapter 72

"Where exactly are we going?" Chase asked, sitting up on his bed while House tested the strength of his left leg between the beds.

"Not far. I just want to go up to my office, where I can actually get to my computer and my private phone book. Make some calls, be comfortable. Get something actually done..." House detailed. "Get the hell out of HERE for a while." He gestured. "Tired of being just a patient."

"You're bored." Chase translated. "Any dizziness?" He asked, lifting his brows and giving House a slightly worried look.

"Not enough to stop me." House reported, limping around the end of the bed, using it as his crutch. "I think they stowed our things in the closet by the door." He used the bed as far as he could, and then reached out for the chair, using it the same way. He pushed it in front of him, and then limped another step, using it as a make-shift walker.

"Be careful. If you fall, you could get second-impact syndrome." Chase warned quickly, raising a hand. He kept wincing expecting every step to end with House stumbling. It was scaring the hell out of him.

"I'm not going to fall." House assured. "Trust me! I've been disobeying orders for years now! I know what I'm doing!"

"How 'have' you been doing anyway?" Chase asked as he watched the man slowly get over to the closet and then open it.

"Okay. Vision sometimes blurry, but considering prune face as the night nurse that works in my favor. I get headaches throughout the day. My memory was pretty spotty that night, the few times I was 'aware'. Not that I could really talk about it. But it all came back the next morning when I was more wide awake. Mostly it is the vision and the headache, which is normal considering what happened. And I'm not really having any withdrawal symptoms from the Vicodin." He promised. "And paydirt! I found... damn... not much. Mostly, it is personal items. I guess our clothes are pretty much not an issue."

They would have cut them off. "But... look!" He held up an orthopedic cane that someone had left for him, for later. "It's not exactly stylish, but it will do." He pronounced, using it instead of the chair. "You... stay here. I'll get a chair and be back for you." House poked his head out the door and looked up and down the halls.

"Like I'm going anywhere." Chase snorted to himself as House made his way out to score the wheelchair.

His patience was somewhat rewarded when House returned ten minutes later, dressed in scrubs with a mask over his face, pushing a chair. "Like my disguise?" House asked. It was times like this that he truly reminded Chase of a giant eight year old. This, was fun, for House.

"It's fabulous!" Chase said with a straight face as House pulled the wheelchair around and then pulled his cane out of it.

"It's all the rage in Paris this year!" House assured him, putting the breaks on and then helping Chase off the bed. He could feel the cold of the floor, and his left leg was definitely getting stronger. Over all, it was real improvement that he could measure and appreciate.

He sat down and House pulled the slippers out of the drawer. They were pretty much disposable slippers for patients. More like socks with delusions of slipperness. He handed them to Chase, and it was a bit of a...

"Okay, we severely misjudged this." House finally declared, hands on his hips and frowning as he pulled down his mask and surveyed he situation. "Should have done this, before we got you off the bed."

House couldn't bend down enough without risking the dizziness sending him to the floor, not to mention his right leg tended to hate him. And Chase couldn't stretch quite that far with the two braces for his bad back and leg.

"I... can live without them!" Chase finally said brightly. "We'll take them with us though, in case we find someone that'll assist us in this odd endeavor."

"Accomplices! Yes, I'll... We... need accomplices..." House agreed, pushing the wheelchair, making Chase hold his cane, as usual. They nearly made it out of the ward before they were caught.

"House? Chase?"

"AH! It's the Warden! Flee! We must have tripped an alarm! The guards are coming!" House gasped, trying to push the chair faster to the double doors that separated the Cancer ward from the offices where Diagnostics and various other offices were kept.

"House! What are you doing out of bed." Click click click. Her shoes echoed in the halls as House pushed the metal plate on the side of the doors.

"Hurry hurry hurry..." House chanted and pushed through as they opened just enough for the wheelchair to fit. House was acting more like they were playing out a scene from an action movie, than that they were just really trying to 'outrun' their boss.

Chase was chuckling into his hand. There was no way they'd 'escape'. But he couldn't deny that House was putting in a damn good effort.

"Don't you run... limp... from me!" She called out from behind them. "You can't just go wandering around in your condition."

"My condition? My delicate condition? Chase, you cad! Cuddy, the pregnancy test isn't even back yet... how can you accuse me of a 'condition'." House didn't turn around as he continued to push the chair as fast as he could limp forward. She was following and coming up nearly even to them.

"Houuuuse... go back to your room." Cuddy ordered.

"Moooooom... I promised to do the dishes! Chase and I just wanted to play a bit of baseball before it got dark." House pulled the mask down and pouted at her. "We'll be right back! The park is just down the street! We won't take candy from strangers!"

"House!" Cuddy sighed. "You could fall down. You just had surgery recently."

"I'm fine." House denied, heading straight toward the conference room and then his office. "I've had worse! You know, gun shot wounds, infarctions..." He paused and then piped up brightly, "...Papercuts. Got to be careful of those papercuts. Those are killer!"

"You can't really expect me to let you work." She told him, scowling at him and throwing her hands up.

"I don't. I expect you to let me play in my office." House told her in return. "I stay out of your hair... and you stay out of mine!" He winced and touched his head. "Well, relatively!"

"House, it doesn't change the fact that you could have complications. I'd feel better if someone was... well..." She gestured around the office. "Around, just to help you."

"That's what Chase is for." House said. "He's going to help me research!"

"No, I mean help in case you decide to do a header into the floor!" Cuddy crossed her arms over her chest, irritated.

"That sounds painful. I don't think I'll decide on that." House wrinkled his nose and shook his head. "Doesn't sound like much fun. Since you're here? Unlock this?" He tapped his office door.

"I don't have the key." She told him, feigning patience. "It's in my office."

House pushed the wheelchair to the conference table and then sat down. "Well, go get it. We can wait that long!"

Cuddy pressed her lips together and gave him a long evaluating look before leaving. "Stay here, don't leave." She warned.

"I have half a mind to run away to Peds. They have all the cool toys anyway!" House sulked, arms over his chest as they waited for Cuddy to return. "Or we could just neck for a while."

Chase laughed and shook his head.

"Spoilsport." House pronounced. Though it was obvious that it would have been difficult, anyway. Neither of them were in any real condition to do too much that required contortions or athletics.

"House." Wilson said it with a patient sigh. He was also holding the key to House's office.

"Aw, man. Cuddy ratted me out! I should have known!" House bitched. "She couldn't get me to behave so she went to you? Like I behave for you either!"

"You are technically my patient. You have a head injury, and... you've taken off with my other patient. Of course, she called me!" He still went ahead and unlocked the door. "What exactly is the plan here? Besides to get Cuddy yelling about insurance and responsibility and how if you fall while technically a patient, the hospital is liable?"

"Really?" House smiled and seemed to consider it.

"House!" Wilson gave him a 'look'.

"Like I'd really fall on purpose." House scoffed, arms over his chest.

"What is the plan, House?" Wilson asked again, this time a bit more irritated.

"To... research. Look things up. Internet. Make some phone calls. Find out what the hell is going on in the case itself! I told Cuddy that, didn't I?" House asked with a frown.

Wilson looked over at Chase and then Chase gave a small shake of his head. "House? All you told her was that I was to help you do research. You told ME the other stuff, before we left the room."

Wilson looked very worried at this point, and Chase couldn't deny that he himself was a bit worried.

House put up his hands in a defensive gesture. "It was IMPLIED! Research. Considering the situation, she should have realized that would be what I was researching. I'm all right! I've not lost my marbles."

"No, obviously not. But I think some of your marbles are still a bit off their mounts." Wilson said cautiously as he pulled out his pen light and stepped closer.

House defiantly covered his eyes with his hands. "If I can't see you, you can't see me." He said with finality.

"How about a compromise?" Wilson raised his hands in surrender, re-pocketing his light-pen. "If you will return to your hospital room, take it easy, and not put yourself at further risk... you can have your laptop and use the Internet in your room. Deal?"

"Can I have my stereo, ball, and gameboy too?" House pushed, narrowing his eyes. It reminded Chase of a teenager taking that 'mile, after being given an inch' as he'd heard a bunch of parents say since working at PPTH. Give a little, give it all.

Wilson sighed, closing his eyes a few seconds and then nodding. "Yes. Now? Can we PLEASE go back to your room before Cuddy has a conniption fit?"

"But I want to see the conniption fit. Everyone always SAYS that someone is going to have a conniption, but I've never actually SEEN a conniption fit. I think we should, for research purposes." House insisted. "We could film it, and have a documentary. We could call it, 'Meltdown of an Administrator'."

"House... please... even if she has an actual one hundred percent bona fide conniption fit? You're still not going to see it. She'll do it in her office, like usual, when you're not around. Now, come on... Take your ball and game boy with you now, let Chase carry it, and I'll have someone bring down the stereo and laptop as soon as you're back in bed."

Wilson had already grabbed the items and gave them to House. Letting House touch them and hold them a moment so he'd feel more like he'd really done it himself, probably. After a moment, the older man handed them to Chase to hold, and then got behind the wheelchair to push it.

Wilson walked with them, not trying to convince House to get into a wheelchair himself. Instead, letting him walk back, under his own power. Letting House have that measure of control.

Chase mused to himself while holding House's things, that so much came down to control. Control of self. Control of others. Control of the environment we live in. Others trying to control them!

Lack of control was a big issue for all of them.

That and trust.

Because there would be times when control would have to be given up, to a degree, to someone else. But whom to trust? House trusted Chase. Chase trusted House. House also trusted Wilson. And Chase was learning to trust Wilson, as well.

If he trusted House, then he needed to remember that for when jealousy poked up its ugly head. Take the distrust off the fear, and it would be naked and eventually fade away to the background.

Wilson and House had been friends for years. So there was no issue there, right? Chase was the one that House had...

As they entered the room Chase felt as though cold water had been poured on him. Fuck if he wasn't acting like his mother! Taking her fears, jealousy, and distrust on his shoulders and trying to cast House in the role of Rowan? Was he really afraid of Stacy? Of Wilson?

He wiped a hand down his face, feeling guilty. House had not acted different from all the other times he had. And while he'd found the jealousy 'cute', it was probably because he didn't realize the destructive nature of the emotion. No one had ever really acted that way toward him, probably. If he kept it up, he'd end up pushing House away. He had to be in 'control' of himself. And not try to control House. Was there something to Rowan's assertion that over the years, his mother had... become 'too' needy? Or, was that another case of childhood memories plus skewed perspective? There were two sides to every story. Like Wilson said. What had happened behind the scenes? Would he ever know now? Probably not. But he knew that House wouldn't want to be controlled by Chase's negative emotions.

The chair was locked into place next to his bed and House was offering a hand to help him up, Wilson standing nearby.

He pressed his lips together and pulled himself up, and then reached forward, wrapping his arms around House's shoulders, hugging him to himself. It surprised House, and he held up his hands, uncertain a moment before wrapping them around Chase as well. "Well... trying to give Jimmy a show too?" House joked.

"No... just wanted to tell you... I trust you. And I'm glad you're here." He whispered into House's ear, brushing a gentle kiss over the shell of it before letting him go and sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Dr. Wilson... thank you." He told the other man, and then scooted further back onto the bed as House gave him a weird look and then worked on walking back to his bed.

Wilson also gave him a strange look, but after a moment nodded. "Um... okay. You're... welcome!" He offered him a small smile. "Are you... in pain?" He squinted, trying to figure out what was going on.

Chase closed his eyes and then nodded a little. It had the benefit of being true. His back was starting to key up, as was his thigh. But it was the splint that was bugging him most.

"Aw, Chase..." Wilson said, pulling the sheet up over his legs. "All you had to do was tell us..." He gave him a sympathetic look and tucked him in a bit. "I'll get you something for the pain."

House was frowning from his bed, leaning over the railing to give him a closer look. "You didn't tell me." He accused.

"It... just started." Chase shrugged a shoulder a little. "Honest. It just started." He promised. "I wasn't hiding it. It just came on, when we got here."

"I'll get you something. House are you... all right?" Wilson asked, tilting his head. "Truthfully?"

"Would you believe me?" House asked, crossing his arms over his chest, defensively. His ball and gameboy in his lap. The PSP was on the lap-table on the side of the bed. He was getting his collection of 'toys' all lined up.

Wilson pursed his lips and wrinkled his brow in thought. "Yes."

"Promise no told you so's?" House narrowed his eyes, in suspicion. That was another thing, Chase hated being told 'I told you so' as well. Especially, when he already knew he'd screwed up.

"Promise." Wilson held up his hands. There was a time to push, and a time to just give. This was a time to give.

"Nausea." House grumbled, looking away from both men. He said it with such distaste, that it was obvious he hated to admit it. It had probably been exasperated by the 'walk' they'd gone on.

Instead, of saying anything further, Wilson saluted and then went out to get their meds.

House frowned and wrinkled his nose. "RJ is having a bad influence on people around here."

Chase could only agree.

There was a hesitant knock on the door. "Greg, sweetheart? Are you still mad at us?" Aunt Sarah called out, asking in a way if it was all right to come in.

"Yes, and no." Greg answered. "Just get in here already." He called out.  
"Reckon we're in fer it." Lee said as he sat down and took in the new bed arrangements, but never commenting on it.

"They should have just pushed them together." She wrinkled her nose, unable to let it go without one thing said. She perched on the end of House's bed and folded her hands on her lap. "You do know we love you, right?" She asked him.

House rolled his eyes and then nodded. "Yes. I know."

"And you know, that anything we have done or will be doing, is only because we love you and want you to be healthy, happy, and all that good stuff?" Sarah continued.

"Yessss, Aunt Sarah." House sing-songed.

"Good. Because we're testifying against your father as soon as they have it all straightened out. And your momma is probably not going to be too happy about it." Sarah sighed.

"Are you testifying against my mother?" House asked. "And I don't care if asking is 'tampering'. I just want to know." He demanded.

Lee chuckled. "Ain't like nuthin' ya say would stop us from doin' wha' we want nohow! But, mayhap it won' come ta tha' anyhow!"

"It might not come to that?" House asked, raising his brows. "How is that?"

"Yer lawyer lady friend. Righ' smart cookie. Mayhap she'll get 'er off." He shrugged. "Sarah an' I, we hadda looooong talk. We reckon tha' the main thing... get John offa the streets." He said in a grim tone. "Revenge? Not important. Yer what is."

Sarah reached out and stroked a foot that was nearest her, giving him a sad smile. "We've always loved you, honey. All that matters, to us, is you getting better and being happy."

Chase closed his eyes tightly as bolts of lightening seemed to be zig zagging down his legs from his backside. It was sciatic, he was sure of it. But it was hurting all the way down to his feet. He didn't say anything, just held on. Pain meds were coming. It was the first time since the surgery that he'd felt pain this intense, really. The sciatic nerve was still irritated, after all. It could be weeks before it was completely healed, as many as twelve! This was more like breakthrough pain, than anything. God, please let the meds come, now.

Wilson returned, two syringes in his hands. "Ah... everything all right here?" He looked toward House, directing the question more to him than the relatives.

He prompted Chase to turn on his side a little, and lift the sheet up as a shield and hide his actions, but still glanced up to watch House's reactions. He gave Chase the pain shot and within minutes Chase could finally relax. He'd not realized how tense he'd gotten in just the few minutes. Not till he was practically melting into goo.

"Ohhhhh, Gaaaaaaaaaawwwwwd." Chase cooed. "Nooooow I know why House liiiikes you. Youuuu make the best mommy-daddy EVER." Chase sighed, invoking laughter from all the others.

"Yes, the truth outs." Wilson gave a small theatrical put-upon sigh. "The real reason I and my wives never had children, is because I have Greg House. The ultimate Peter Pan. I should just adopt him. Makes complete sense. Maybe I could use him as some kind of tax right-off. A 'dependant'."

The ball bounced off his head and back toward the bed where Sarah caught it and returned it to House's hand from whence it came.

Wilson administered the anti-nausea med. "Do youuuuu have pain?" He asked.

"Yes, Doctor... it's standing about a foot from me, has brown eyes, dark hair, and bushy eyebrows. Think we can do something about the ache it is causing me... The pain is causing a sympathetic ache near my ass."

"I'm a pain in the ass..." Wilson nodded. "Well, guess we don't need this one..." He pulled out another syringe from his pocket and wiggled it before putting it back inside.

"You're cruel." House intoned.

He went ahead and administered it with a rueful smile. "You're lucky I'm such a 'good mommy-daddy'." He told him in a cutsey voice. "There, now, I shall leave you with these two. Try to keep them in their respective beds so my nurses don't have fits?" He chuckled as he tucked House in as well. "I've got to get back to work... not that these two aren't work, but I have more patients than just them."

House rubbed his eyes and closed them, sighing softly. "I hate feeling hazy. Hate not being able to think... loooooove not feeling pain!" He said thickly.

"Ain't no person what likes pain." Lee chuckled.

"Not true!" Chase smiled slightly. "Lots of people that likes pain. Little doses. Pleasure and pain can be a thin line! Going back and forth. It's control. They give it to someone they trust. Trust and control." He giggled a little. "Safe. You have to feel safe to give someone your trust and control... Does Turner feeeeel safe yet with Allison?" He wondered suddenly.

"I think Wilson gave him waaaaay too much." House looked amused, while Sarah was slightly confused, but Lee was chuckling in a devious manner.

It was probably true, but the pain which was spiking through him like lightening seconds before Wilson's return had gone and that was all that mattered.

The other's voices became buzzing sounds as he drifted down and away. House's voice a comforting drone. He fought to hang on to it, but he was gone again before he even realized it.

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	73. Chapter 73

Chase woke to the feeling of someone staring at him. It was just that little prickle that one gets when you just know someone is watching you. He cracked an eye open and found that House was sitting on his bed, dressed in normal clothes, listening to his Ipod.

His laptop was on the lap-table over him. He wasn't wearing his tennis shoes, but he did have socks on. He had two hand held game systems, his stereo, CDs, the laptop, his ball, and several large leather bound volumes sitting nearby. House still had his Gravedigger cap on, and was wearing a T-shirt that had some old band on it. He could have been in his own living room, hanging out.

"You're awake, finally!" House furrowed his brow, narrowing his eyes and watching him carefully.

"How long did I sleep?" Chase asked. He was leery of moving too fast. He wasn't in pain, but there was this 'feeling' that if he moved too much too soon, it would hurt again. It was a sleeping giant residing down the back of his leg. Waiting to be woken and then attack.

"Didn't keep track." House admitted. "But, you've been asleep a long time."

"And you seem to have moved half your office in that time."

"Considering you slept through the noise?" House tilted his head and squinted. "Wilson checked on you a few times, but he assured me you weren't in a coma or dead. Just sleeping deep."

"Must have been more tired than I thought." He rubbed his head with one hand, but didn't otherwise move.

"Still in pain?" House asked, looking away and typing on his computer. Chase had never really seen House type before, but he was amazed by how fast House could actually do so. One of his excuses for not doing his own e-mail was that he'd 'take too long'. The truth was he was too disinterested in doing it.

"No." Chase answered.

"You're lying." House said tightly. "You've not sat up, moved your bed into a raised position, or so much as twitched since you woke." He was still typing away quickly, without missing a keystroke of whatever it was he was working on.

"I'm not in pain, because I haven't moved. I don't know if I would be in pain, if I move. But right this second don't want to chance it." Chase specified. "All you asked, is if I was still in pain."

"Semantics and technicalities." House intoned. "Lie by omission is still a lie."

"It's not a lie, if it is also true. I'm not in pain, at the moment. It was just sciatic. The nerve was irritated before the surgery, it'll still be irritated now. It was just breakthrough, that's all." Chase assured.

"If it is just breakthrough, and now under control, then why not sit up?" House challenged.

Chase was five seconds from snapping on him, when he realized that House was... was trying to head it off at the pass? He wasn't sure why.

"Because I've not taken my meds yet?" Chase offered lamely at the last moment.

"Fair enough." House nodded, leaving it alone, but also pushing the nurse's button.

It was Prune face.

"You should be sleeping." She admonished sourly at House.

"I'm not tired. I already slept. And he's been sleeping a long time... he needs his pain meds though. So, take time away from your cauldron stirring and bring him his pills." House ordered.

She looked angry to be ordered around, but he just looked at her. "What? You don't have the time? Have a hot date with Beelzebub? He'll wait! Go get his pills." He gestured with his head toward Chase.

Pressing her lips together she stomped out, but Chase suspected in a few hours, Wilson was going to hear an earful about House again.

"Been torturing her all night?" Chase asked.

"Only the last hour and a half. I woke up hungry. I wanted a cheery popsicle... or four." He smiled and happily clicked more keys.

"You better be careful. They can always decide to keep us today." Chase warned.

"No, they won't. With the exception of RJ, there is a petition on the floor that everyone has signed asking that we be released at exactly 11AM or possibly before." House explained. "Though I can almost guarantee that someone will be 'staying with us' for a few days." He closed his eyes and looked pained.

"Are you all right?" Chase asked, concerned.

"No. I'm imagining Aunt Sarah staying with us for a week." House said weakly.

Chase wasn't sure if he was horrified or amused by the idea. He decided to be amused at the moment. There would be plenty of time to be horrified later.

Nurse Prune returned, the little medicine cup in her hand as she hurried in, all business. "I trust you both will stay in your beds, this time!" Her eyes flashed as she looked from one to the other of us.

"I have every intention of keeping him in bed..." He paused. "At some point." Then he gave her a leering smile.

She made a noise, once more had the look of irritation before stomping off in a huff.

Of course, House would take it as a challenge at this point. Chase should have known he would. He tossed back the pills and drank a cup of water.

"You stay here." House told him. "Your pain pill hasn't had time to kick in, annnnnd..." He shrugged and shook his head. "I'll be back." He intoned in Terminator fashion, grabbing his shades and slipping them on, holding his cane like a 'gun'. Then he flipped it down and used it to get off the bed.

Chase chuckled and admitted silently that he wasn't really up for another 'adventure'. Not till he was absolutely sure, it wasn't going to hurt to move. But he couldn't resist finding out, and slowly carefully, he moved a bit. Raising the head of the bed. He moved his left leg, pulling it up, and then stretching it. Wiggling his toes. He moved his left leg from side to side, keeping it straight. He was relieved not to feel anything scream at him other than the bone itself telling him 'don't bend me'. He wiggled his toes. They were fine.

He longed to stretch. To really really stretch out. To feel his back flex. And it itched like mad! He knew it meant that the stitches were probably about ready to come out. And that the skin was healing. But it was maddening all the same. Like thousands of ants crawling up and down.

Resisting the impulse to shove his back against the back of the bed and 'scratch' the itching, he instead tried to turn his attention to something else. It was amazing how much House had managed to talk people into bring him. There was another couple of box sets on the table. Next to the DVD player. There was... Chase blinked rapidly and then squinted, trying to read the title. Lesbian porn? Did that say... yeahhhhhhh... it was. He chuckled to himself and shook his head.

It must have been pretty close to shift change, because Prune face returned to raise the lights a bit. She took one look at House's empty bed and turned a startled and disapproving look on Chase.

Chase opened his eyes wide. "I... have no idea. I had my eyes closed?"

She pressed her lips together and he swore he heard a growl.

"Uht-ohhhhhh..." He sung softly under his breath as she stomped out. "Someone's in twouble." He snorted.

He could hear faint noises out there in the halls. The sounds of people hurrying up and down. The sounds of doors opening and closing. Chase pressed a hand against his lips, closing his eyes and telling himself he shouldn't laugh. But he was soon chuckling into his fingers. House had managed to get the entire floor riled up, just by leaving the room. He did wonder where he went though.

Half an hour passed, and he could hear Wilson's voice as he walked down the hallway. "Are you sure he's not in his office?" He heard the man say just as he walked into the room. "Chase? Did he tell you where he was going?" The other man looked exasperated and Chase could only shrug.

"He didn't say. Just said he'd be back!" Chase shook his head. "Oh, and that I couldn't go this time." He feigned a pout. "Guess I move too slow for him."

"Riiiiight." Wilson drawled. "Well, YOU stay put, or I'll change your discharge orders."

"Don't you dare!" One of the female nurses in the hall gasped.

Wilson slumped visibly. "It's a threat, but it doesn't work if you respond like that!" He whined as he hurried out of the room, joining the search for House.

Chase was snickering again and turning the television on to watch cartoons. He was half-way into an episode of something odd, about a kid with a football shaped head, when House returned. He had a plastic bag in his left hand, and he hurried to climb back into bed.

"You were discovered out of bounds after curfew." Chase warned him.

"Oh, I know. I knnoooooow... Almost got caught by their dogs! But I fooled them and backtracked!" House told him in an excited whisper.

"We don't have dogs." Chase laughed.

"Sure we do! Nurse Brenda, Nurse Becky, Nurse Daphne..." He counted them off on his fingers.

Chase rolled his eyes, still laughing. "Okay, what did you get?" He asked.

"I got..." He opened the bag between his outstretched legs and moved things around inside of it. "I did research last night, and this morning. Not just on the laws and stuff... but... more useful shit than that nutritionist left behind."

He tossed a bag gently onto Chase's lap. "Tootsie pops? No gluten. Blow pops? No gluten." He tossed a second bag into his lap. "You're still not up to the rough stuff like popcorn, which is... generally... gluten free! But you're supposed to be starting to move up to the foods that are mushable and more solid than jello!"

He rummaged through the bag some more and pulled out. "Laffy Taffy, no gluten!" He cheerfully informed him. "Sugar babies, Tootsie rolls, Dots, Crows, Um... Fluffy Stuff?" He turned the bag over in his hand and snorted. "All of it is gluten free."

He tossed each bag over to Chase, making sure it didn't land on his right leg. "You... bought me candy?" He smiled.

"We're getting out today!" House cheered, pulling out a lollipop from the bag. Obviously, he had some candy of his own. "We need something better than the swill they'll be serving us in a few minutes."

He crossed his legs at his ankle and took over the television. Chase grinned as he sorted through the bags and then opened one, fishing out a Tootsie pop and unwrapping it.

Wilson stepped in, hurrying, already talking before he registered who was in the room. "Chase are you SURE... HOUSE!" Wilson yelled.

"What?" House asked innocently, popping the lolly out of his mouth and raising his brows. "Something wrong?"

"Youuuuu..." Wilson raised a hand, and looked down, his lips pursed and he squeezed his eyes closed. "You-you..." He let his hand fall and groaned to himself, covering his eyes with his other hand.

"Me, me, me... what?" House asked. "Something amiss, ol'buddy?"

"You... STAY!" Wilson pointed at him and ordered.

"Woof!" House barked.

Wilson spun on his heel and hurried out, leaving them alone together.

"I'm guessing he's calling off the search party." Chase commented, happily sucking on his lollipop.

"House, what the hell was the meaning of you..." Wilson was again already talking as he stomped in. "Do you know how worried I've been? Where did you go?"

"Moooooom... I didn't leave the house." House pouted, twirling his lollipop. "I went down to the gift-shop. The old lady gets there about six, doesn't usually open the door till about seven. But, she felt sorrrrry for meeeee..."

Wilson ran a hand through his hair.

House waited patiently.

"What?" Wilson finally exploded after House stared at him for a few minutes more.

"I'm waiting for the 'dead in a ditch', The 'ask for permission', The 'responsible for your safety', and the 'you're driving me to an early grave' parts." House shoved his sucker back in his mouth and watched Wilson.

"Well you could have been, didn't, we are, and you DEFINITELY are! I have gray hair starting to show up. You've always been hard to deal with, and a few have come in over time from your stunts. But in the last two months? I'm starting to see more and more! DOZENS at a time!" Wilson shook his finger.

House's lips twitched. "You... actually... count them?" He asked, raising his brows slowly.

"Not... intentionally..." Wilson shifted his gaze away and cleared his throat.

House just shook his head, rolling his eyes. "I'm fine. Besides, you're turning us loose today, remember?" He pointed out. "Are you going to be this frantic when we're home?"

He was once more back on the internet, scrolling through links and sites, trying to find something. Researching.

Wilson smirked. "I'm sure your Aunt Sarah won't let anything happen to you. Neither would Uncle Lee. They're camping out at your place. Lee said something about having gotten a cot, an Sarah is planning on sleeping on your couch."

House groaned. "I no longer want to go home. Can you keep us another week?" He asked Wilson.

Wilson smirked. "Ohhhh, now... wouldn't want to do that. I'm sure you miss Steve, and sleeping in your own bed..."

"She's probably..." House made a face. "Cleaned."

Wilson beamed. "She even organized, and bought groceries."

House slumped further. "I'm..."

He turned to Chase. "How do you feel about a hotel?"

Chase chuckled. "I'm sure they will go away, especially if you let them know that we're all right. They don't have to stay there."

"They're... in my personal space." House groused. "It's time for everyone to get out of my personal space."

Wilson smiled slightly, but it was tinged with understanding. "They're just worried about you." Wilson said.

"I know that. I know that! But they need to stop now! I... don't like people around my STUFF!" He waved his hands around the various things in the room already. "You two can be around my stuff. So long as you don't fondle it. But, they need to go to the hotel. Wilson? Do you still have your hotel room? Give it to them, and YOU stay!"

"I'm not sleeping on the couch, House. It kills my back." Wilson sighed. "Annnd why would I fondle your stuff?"

"Give them your hotel room annnnnd... you can sleep in Chase's bed, and he'll sleep beside me." House tried to compromise. "And you would fondle my stuff out of jealousy that you don't have such nice stuff!"

"Oh, and listen to the two of you make out?" Wilson scoffed, looking around incredulously. "If I'm that bored, I'll rent a porn. I can turn those off when I'm bored! I'm not staying."

House rolled his eyes. "Did you not notice the hip and back brace? Nothing hot and heavy will be going on for a few more weeks. At... least!" He waved his hand around.

Wilson snorted and shook his head. "Not doing it. You'll survive a week with your Aunt and Uncle. Promise. I'll come see you two regularly to make sure that there's not been a mass murder in the meantime."

"Why? Staying with your girlfriend?" House finally asked, a hint of snideness in his voice.

Wilson looked up in surprise. "What?"

"Your girlfriend? The one you've been hiding for a few weeks? That one?" House crossed his arms over his chest.

The other man opened and closed his mouth a few times, looking toward Chase and then back at House. Chase was a bit tense, but trying not to look it. He spun the lollipop in his mouth, round and round. He knew eventually House wouldn't be able to resist calling Wilson on it. He just wasn't that patient in the long run.

"I..." Wilson looked down and shook his head. "I don't have a girlfriend... anymore. It... didn't work out."

"Annnnd... I didn't interfere once." House may have been surprised, but he was quick to seize the opportunity to make a point. "No interference. No intimidation. No snarking, smart-alecking, or sarcasm. I didn't go near her. Wow... I think I'm actually proud of myself! You should be too!"

"I... know." Wilson grimaced. "Of course, I didn't know you knew, but... I do appreciate that you gave me the opportunity to screw it up all by myself this time. And yes, I'm very very proud of you for letting me screw up on my own instead of helping me!"

"Well, I knew you had it in you!" House said it as though he were complimenting Wilson or offering congratulations!

"You're enjoying this." Wilson said bitterly. "You get some kind of... enjoyment..."

"No, I don't!" House denied. "I'm just saying I didn't do it, and no one can blame ME this time. Besides, she was all wrong for you, and you would have been miserable with her in the long run. Now... give my Uncle and Aunt your hotel room. And stay with us. And you know what? This time, let US find you a girl. I know you better than anyone."

Wilson looked a little pained and very nervous. "You're going to... no. Just no. I don't need you setting me up. I can find my own failed dates and crazy women." He sighed looking up toward the ceiling. "And don't. Just... no don't... find me... no blind dates! And I'm not giving them my hotel room. No. "

"Chase and I, are not having sex." He told Wilson. "Hell, he and I have only 'agreed' to see each other in the last couple of days. It's not hot and heavy, not to mention... two injured men here? You're not going to see or hear anything that will insult your sensibilities. And I promise whomever I choose for you will be able to see! Come onnnnnn..."

"That's..." Wilson shook his head and looked down. "Far more information than I needed. No. I'm perfectly happy to stay in the hotel."

"You're a moron." House told him. "Are you that worried we'll make noise? We don't snore that loud!"

"Noooo, that's..." Wilson winced and shook his head, offering a weak smile. "It'll be all right. it'll be fine. Your Aunt Sarah and Uncle Lee love you... They won't stay long?" He tried to convince House. But then a second later he pressed his hands together in a pleading gesture. "PLEASE don't set me up with anyone! Give me another chance to prove I can pick out my own girlfriend. I know I can do it! One more chance, pleaaaaaassssse!"

"Too late! Flipping through my mental files as we speak! You're just doomed now!" House assured. He held out a lollipop. One of the nasty chocolate ones he didn't really like. "Want one?"

"You're giving me something?" Wilson held out his hand, but took it like it might explode. "What's the catch?" He asked, narrowing his eyes. He looked utterly doomed. Chase figured he should look doomed, because he was doomed. House was plotting!

"I hate that flavor. Chocolate should be in chocolate. Chocolate shouldn't be in hard candy." House explained while making a face. "You can have those... and the... green ones." He nodded.

Wilson rolled his eyes and then chuckled. "Should have known."

And with that, Chase was pretty sure that Wilson was over the whole 'escape from the ward' episode. Instead, he was more worried about who was going to show up on his doorstep throwing themselves at him. He tucked the brown and green lollies in his pocket and then took off for the doorway. "I'll write up your discharge papers. Sooner you two are 'out' of here, the better for my nurses." He sighed, still smiling. "I already called your Aunt and Uncle to come pick you up soon."

"TRAITOR!" House yelled as Wilson was going out of the door before grabbing his cane again and getting out of bed.

"I have clothes for you." He said, squatting a little to pick up the brown paper bag with handles from beside the bed. He limped over and set it down once more on Chase's bed, then came to the side that Chase would be getting out of bed on.

He pulled the curtain around the bed and around so that if anyone walked in, Chase would still be shielded. "Let's get you out of those, and into something that's not hospital chic. I got sweatpants to fit over the brace." He explained.

"I want this damn brace off." Chase bitched, untying the gown and unwrapping it as he pulled his arms through. "Hate it. It itches, it is chafing, it's... in the way."

"Can you bitch about anything else real quick?" House asked, raising a brow.

"The price of gasoline is too high, milk prices have gone up, and my back is itching. Annnnd... I'm going to miss bread." Chase summed up quickly.

"That was supposed to be rhetorical." House informed him.

"Too bad." Chase smirked.

His gown off to the waist, House pulled a shirt on over his head. "This... is not my shirt." Chase announced as he looked down in amusement. It was a shirt with some kind of band on it. It also fit rather snug, but was very soft. Softer than most his own shirts.

"Yeahhhhh I know... what can I say? Aunt Sarah is strange." He closed his eyes and shuddered. Chase imagined that he was once more thinking of his Aunt sorting through his 'things', and touching them 'too much'.

"It was probably on purpose. Dirty old woman. She just wants to see you in something tight and revealing. I better be careful about leaving you alone with her." House told him.

"House? Chase?" He heard Wilson call out.

"You're just in time. Trying to get Chase dressed. Get over here and help." House ordered the other man.

"I'm not sure..." Wilson started nervously, looking around for escape.

"I'm not groping him." House said in annoyance. He threw his hands up and reached out and pulled Wilson around the front. "See? He's covered up and everything. What is wrong with you today?" House asked.

"Nothing I'm just..." Wilson sighed and then gave them a rueful smile. "I'm being silly." He finally said. "Absolutely... silly." He shook his head and closed his eyes, still smiling.

He came around and shook out the sweatpants, bending down to thread Chase's feet through and then pull them up half way. "Stand up, and use me to steady yourself." He instructed, and then pulled them up over Chase's thighs and hips quickly and efficiently.

Chase sat down, but he was feeling a lot stronger than he had in a while. So when he sat down, it wasn't with the feeling that he'd just run a mile. He sighed in relief though, that it hadn't been really that painful. Meds were 'good'.

Wilson grabbed the socks and slipped them on each foot without being asked, and then did the same with the tennis shoes. Tying them without being asked either. Chase smiled a little with every action. The man did everything with a sense of caring.

He watched as Wilson tucked away all of Chase's candy into a bag, and was practically packing for him and House. Just 'fussing' around, making everything tidy and gathering it all up for them. Taking 'care' of them. Which really, wasn't unusual anymore. Wilson had been taking care of them all along.

He found himself pondering this, as he watched the other man, and then realized he was being stared at as well. He looked up, and saw that House was concentrating on him almost as hard as he'd been watching Wilson.

Wilson's pager went off and he grimaced. "Be back in a bit. I have to take this." He hurried out of the room at a jog.

House raised a brow, tilting his head and Chase found himself talking before he realized he was doing so. "He needs someone that needs HIM!"

House grinned and nodded. "Exactly! Exactly! You got it! He needs to be needed. He needs to help and take care of someone! But the problem is, he's going out with these women and as soon as they are 'fixed', they don't need HIM anymore! Or, he loses the attraction himself, and is bored. Then, he ends up wandering. The problem is, emotionally needy people, which are the easiest to attract are like vampires sucking the life out of you. And he's a vampire too, and two vampires can't constantly feed off each other without something new in the mix."

"No wonder he can't find someone and just... stick with them." Chase rubbed a hand down his face and shook his head. "Any ideas? Are you really going to find him a date?"

House shook his head. "No ideas, YET! And yeah, eventually. This needs... more research. We must study him when he comes visit. True, it isn't his 'natural habitat', but it is as close as we're going to come considering his natural habitat went to Julie in the divorce. And even then? He wasn't there enough to consider it a real home."

Chase rubbed some sleep crust from his eye that he'd just noticed was still there and frowned. "He needs a home. A real home. Not a hotel. He'll always be in a state of flux if he can't just... relax."

The older man nodded, agreeing. "Perhaps... that is the next step. First, we study him... discover his 'needs'. Then we find him an environment that meets those needs. Then we... transport him to that environment. Watch him awhile. Make sure he's taken to it and adapted. Then, we slowly start introducing him to a potential mate. Perhaps one with a disability but a strong mind..."

He couldn't help it, he was laughing. "Oh, God! Do you realize you sound like one of those wildlife preserve keepers?"

"Well, it kind of fits, right? He's the last of his kind? We'll have to set up a program to protect them. Endangered species. Enablers like him don't come around very often. They have to be... well taken care of!" He finally announced. "Maybe someday, we can set up a proper breeding program and ensure that there will be future generations of Enabling Wilsons for posterity to enjoy!"

Pulling the curtain back, House went to his bed and started loading it up with the things that Wilson had already packed.

A cart rattled into the room, pushed by a nurse that Chase didn't personally remember, but considering the look on her face, House must have meet her at least once!

"Usually those are brought down when our rides are already here. I'm getting the impression, you're trying to get rid of us." House feigned a pout. "Don't you love us anymore?"

She didn't say anything. Instead, she started loading everything up neatly onto the cart. Until it was too full, and then she disappeared, returning with a second cart. This time, she was outright glaring at House. They'd never needed two carts before for a patient's junk. Even if the patient was popular! And House was hardly 'popular'.

There was noise in the hallway, and she announced that their wheelchairs were waiting in the hall for when their rides were ready.

"Wow... I feel so... loved." Chase said sardonically.

"Guilt by association." House announced. "You'll either get one of two responses, either people will assume you're 'as bad as House'. Or you'll get people believing I beat you nightly and that you're afraid of me, and thus need saved. Those are the ones to watch out for. I think that's the true reason Wilson gets so many girls all making doe eyes at him. They're 'saving him'... from me! Unfortunately, they assume wrongly that I'm holding him hostage. And therefore, he cannot be saved from me."

"He's your friend." Chase said with a shrug, shaking his head. "Annnnd... I don't know. He'd leave if he was that worried about it."

House was quiet a moment and then looked over at Chase. "Would he? Isn't that the same logic people outside of an... abusive relationship sometimes takes? If it hurts, they'd leave?"

"Are you saying that he's in an abusive relationship with you somehow?" Chase asked, suddenly a bit confused, but then remembering back on similar thoughts he'd had in the past. Particularly, his first few months as a Fellow under House. He couldn't figure out why Wilson stayed. It was before he'd really gotten to know House, and started to take him with a grain of salt. Eventually, he'd found House amusing, and didn't let it get to him anymore.

"I think he and I have a give and take relationship. He gives, and I take." House said carefully, sitting down.

Chase frowned, looking over at House carefully. Uh oh. He'd seen that face and heard that tone before. He was analyzing a situation, giving it too much thought.

"You do know what you're getting into, don't you?" House asked, sitting on the bed, facing Chase. "I'm forty-eight years old, and in that time, I've had maybe four serious relationships. Two with women, two with men. Of those four... the best was with Stacy. It lasted five years from beginning to end. I don't count that year she worked here. And she ended up leaving me because I was an ass. Kept... pushing her. Fighting over... just anything, everything, nothing."

"After the infarction." Chase didn't so much ask as state. "House... relationships... they can be... strong and stable and... and something could still... break it. It's a risk. It'll always be a risk. And yes, you can be an ass. But you know what? So can I. It's just..." He took a deep breath and then let it out slowly.

"You all haven't seen me at my worst. I've had the benefit of seeing you in detox. Seen you out of control and... Hateful. But you haven't seen me at my worst. Everyone got a bit close to how it can be, when this all started. I started to... slide back... into some of MY old behaviors. Not all of them, but enough that I wasn't who they thought I was."

"I think people have this odd image of me as some near 'saint'. I blame it on the fact that people know I was once in the seminary. They think because I was almost a priest, that... that automatically makes me good and pure." He looked over and watched as House studied him. House didn't interrupt, and instead just looked interested.

"But they forget how many priests have been arrested or investigated for crimes. Priests are still human. They still have feelings, desires, impulses. They aren't perfect. And... neither was I. Of course, there are those that think I must be a bastard, and I think, to a point that is closer. Not as bad as they seem to think, but pretty close. To them, I'm the lazy, rich boy, that only became a doctor because daddy made me." He sneered a little at that. "That I'm a snob, that doesn't care about the patients at all. I'm shallow... Foreman usually took that view. I'm not sure if he still buys into that, or not. I know he thinks I'm hardwired to be an arsekisser. I know you've called me such. But, truth is, I just... agreed."

"The truth is probably somewhere in between." House suggested.

Chase shrugged by tilting his head toward his shoulder. "I suppose so. I'm not perfect. For one thing, I make snap judgments based on little to no information about the person themselves. I've been known to make impulsive decisions based on what I want at the time. Some of those decisions... pretty fucked up." He admitted. He was reluctant to really go into them. Not right now, at least. "If you're worried that you are the one that is going to ruin this relationship? You might as well think again. You're going to have just as much trouble with me, as I will with you."

"I pushed Allison away the same way you pushed Stacy, for less!" Chase pointed out, once more looking at House.

"Not for less. Just different." House muttered, looking down at his cane.

"Either way, you're not the only potential arsehole in this relationship. And not the one with the worst relationship track record here." Chase sighed. "You've had four serious relationships. That's... actually not too bad. I on the other hand?" He made a noise that was hard to place. It was both a groan and an embarrassed sound. He sighed, giving House a wry smile before looking away again.

"I've had... mannnnny relationships over the years. Particularly, after I left the seminary and while in school." He made a face and then a pained smile, looking up toward the ceiling. "Sometimes with more than one person at a time. Sometimes those people knew it, because they were also seeing each other. Sometimes... I was cheating on them. I dated male, female, and 'in-between'. I tried everything you could think of to try, so long as it didn't include body waste."

"So you were a naughty naughty boy." House chuckled, if anything he looked more amused and interested. Chase had a feeling at some point, he'd want to hear more of those stories. Just because House liked to gather information, and it sounded 'interesting'. "Very naughty."

"Very naughty." He agreed. "I wanted to... live life to the fullest. I didn't want to miss a thing. I was... drowning myself... in... sensation, action, and movement. Anything not to think, or... feel... emotionally. And I did that, for years. Just always on the move, trying not to feel... bad."

"You were depressed." House said quietly, making a soft tsk noise with his mouth. "You were running ahead of it, trying to ignore and deny it. But I bet it always caught up to you in the end."

"I was depressed." Chase agreed, pursing his lips. "And yes, at some point, I'd end up so low I didn't even feel like getting out of bed. I didn't want to do anything. I didn't feel like talking. I didn't even enjoy the things I loved best. Not even my puzzles."

"Did you do drugs?" House asked suddenly, squinting at him in interest.

"Pot, uppers, that kind of thing. Pot on weekends. Uppers during the week. Had to stay awake for classes, so I could play all night." He closed his eyes and sighed again. What was the point in lying? Didn't they have a conversation a while back about relationships based on lies? He didn't want that again. Besides, it wasn't like House was going to throw stones. He had it on good authority that House had done LSD just to get rid of a migraine. Not to mention, he had a good feeling that House had experimented in his youth.

"But I've not touched the stuff for years." Chase added quickly. "Well, occasionally... caffeine pills. Some of those long nights here?" He shook his head. "But the other stuff? No. I've been well behaved."

"Do you drink?" House asked, looking up at him, raising his brows. He tilted his head the other way and commented. "I know you've had beer. But I've not seen a good enough sampling to decide if that is a potential problem, or well in hand."

"Socially, but not heavy. I'm... paranoid... that I'll become like my mum." Chase looked away and down again. Then looked back up. "I try to limit myself to two drinks, and then stick to soft drinks between and afterward."

House nodded slowly. "Addiction... can run in families. There has been research that a genetic link exists."

Chase once more tilted his head toward his shoulder, nodding and shrugging at the same time. "My point is. You've not seen me at my worst. And at my worst? I was a true bastard. I could be hateful. Cruel. Mean-spirited. Just lashing out at everyone. Pushing people away. I didn't care who I hurt, because I was hurting so bad, all I saw was my own pain and depression. But I never admitted I was in pain, or depressed. I've raised the art of denial to an art form. All I cared about was feeling good, for one moment, even if it was at the expense of another person. I don't want to be that way, ever again. But it is in me to do it. I don't like it. But it is the truth. I'll do whatever I can to not be that way again, but... it could happen. And..." He sighed, shaking his head helplessly. "And I don't want to do it to you. So if you hear me getting like that, call me on it. Definitely."

"How did you beat it?" House asked, looking at him from under his lashes, chin to his chest. "Stop being in so much mental pain and depressed?"

Chase snorted. "I've never honestly beaten it completely. I just, changed venue, and... things are better than they were when I was younger. I'm a bit more sure of who I am, for one thing. I've stopped most of my risky behavior. I have a job I love. I have people I can count on. But whenever things start to look.. unstable or unsure... or in a state of 'flux'..." He shook his head. "There's be a few times, I've considered anti-depressants myself."

"Why don't you?" House asked. "You don't like massive change, do you?"

"Pride?" Chase suggested, shaking his head. "I don't know. And no, I don't like change too much. It's not been bad in years though. I think a lot of it changed when I moved to the United States. I... was away from all that which made me feel the worst. I had a new start, and that helped a lot. But yeah, I got pretty depressed when I was fired. Threw myself into the relationship with Allison without really thinking of the consequences. Convinced her I was sincere, when I think now I was just trying to hold on to something 'familiar' and... safe. Something to distract me, just like in the old days. I used her. And superficial reasons are not enough past a certain point. Being in physical pain all the time, I slid down down down... and she wasn't enough. I started to push her away. All my original reasons crumbled into so much dust."

"But you're telling me this now. You're... not just talking about how you were a bastard once and how you could ruin this relationship as much as I could. You're specifically telling me about the depression and you're mentioning depression medication. Now, we both known I'M on anti-depressants. So, you're not doing the Wilson thing of passively aggressively suggesting I have a problem and should consider it. I think, you're passively asking me my opinion on whether or not you should. Which..." He squinted. "Indicates... Chase? I don't often ask anyone this, but... how are you feeling?"

Chase shut his eyes and turned his head, then looked back. "I'm..."

"What?" House asked.

"I don't know." Chase said, grumbling, looking down at the T-shirt and pulling on the bottom of it. His jacket was laying beside him, now. He used his hands to pull up his knees and move him onto the bed properly and then turn around a bit more to face House better.

"You're right. You've raised this denial thing to an art form! You're depressed, aren't you? Or afraid you're on the verge of a very bad downward swing." House accused, his eyes narrow and peering at him as though he were trying to see the dark cloud growing inside.

"Maybe." Chase said defensively. "I'm..." He looked around the room. "Not actively depressed, but..."

"But you think you're going to be." House pointed a finger at him, tilting his head. He wasn't smiling, but his lips twitched because House was figuring things out. Planning things. Working with the information as it was presented.

"Maybe." Chase grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down again. Why was it still so hard to admit. Depression 'past tense' was easier to admit to, than the possibility that he'd be going through it again real soon. It was like admitting he couldn't control himself. Or that he was weak. He logically knew what every doctor knew. That it could be a chemical imbalance in the brain. That the patient can't control it, and it is an ailment that has to be treated with medication just as blood pressure can be. But he grew up being told that one should and could control themselves, particularly in public. To admit that there were times when he wanted to just make the world 'stop' for a while, and drop out, at least till he felt better? Was like admitting defeat. "I guess." He conceded.

"Which means, you're feeling 'something' that makes you think you will be soon..." House had that 'I'm tracking down a puzzle piece' voice.

Chase sighed, looking up toward the ceiling. "I'm... going to be depressed. I'm going to be anxious. Within the next few hours, or days, I'm going to bounce back and forth between anxiety and depression. And, it might not be pretty when I do it. I hate acting like I'm crazy. I hate losing control and... saying things I don't honestly mean. I'm... worried. I don't want to screw this up so soon."

"And you know this... how?" House pushed a little more, squinting. "You say you're 'going to'... but how do you know you're going to? The only way you could know, is if it is already starting to happen. Even if you take anti-depressants, it takes weeks for it to build up in your system."

"Because I bloody well can't move. And it hurts. And I can't walk. And it's been days and days and days, and I'm starting to realize this isn't going to really change any time soon." He raised his voice as he rapidly spilled it out. "I'm wanting to take these braces off and scream. It's starting to get to me. This is going to be like this for months. And I can't run from it. I can't hide from it. And..." He fell silent, looking away, pressing his mouth shut tightly, wishing he could call back the words and re-phrase them.

House thumped his cane a couple of times, thinking, looking away as well, lips pursed.

"I think... you should take them then." House finally said, looking back up toward the ceiling. "Can't hurt, really. Gotta make sure there is no interactions, but... better than you ending up having a fit and throwing your future walker at me. This is good. It's... good. We know what to expect. It'll be a few weeks before the meds work, but... if you suddenly go emo on me, or angry for no damn reason, I can at least tell myself that it isn't me. You're just... maybe you should also go to that therapy thing they have. You know, for dealing with... this kind of thing. We'll bring you in, like before, only instead of just rehab, you can go talk to the other cripples and complain to them, so that you don't bottle it up and explode all over me like a soda that's been shook too hard. Chase? It's going to be all right. Maybe, it's time I was one this side of the equation... let Karma bite me on the ass this once. It's going to be okay. Really."

Chase by then had managed to shift enough to be facing House completely, his legs off the side of the bed, spread slightly so that his knees were on either side of House's. House stood up and let his cane stand on its own. Chase had no doubt that the man would be replacing it as soon as he could. House put a hand on his shoulder speaking, "So, we both know that we can be assholes. We both know that we have issues. And now we're both aware that you're a hair from freaking out soon about your mobility problems. I think, we can handle it."

Chase nodded in agreement, though more reluctantly. He was still rather worried, but at the same time? He felt calmer than he had been in recent hours. He'd been working himself up, unconsciously into a state. Now he was 'deflated' and felt almost normal. "So... we just work on it, and don't let it stop us?"

House smiled slightly, stepping one step forward and moved his hand from his shoulder to the back of Chase's neck, leaning down to brush his lips against Chase's. He pulled back for a second and then brushed another against his jaw before moving back up to taste him again. Chase slid his hands up House's sides, closing his eyes. If he'd ever tried to imagine how House kissed before all of this, he would never have imagined he'd kiss so gently and tenderly. He would have imagined they'd be rough and forceful. He was anything but.

Chase could feel House's breath, lightly puffed over his skin before he nipped and licked his lower lip. Chase opened his mouth and flicked his tongue to meet House's, while his hands moved up and down his back. Chase slipped a hand beneath House's shirt, seeking the flesh underneath. It was warm to the touch and House pressed closer, wrapping one of his arms around Chase, and kissing him deeper, the intensity building with every gasping breath...

"Ahem!"

"Come back later." House pulled back far enough to say, smirking as he looked Chase in the eye, and leaning back in.

"Dr. House!" The woman's voice was vaguely amused. "That's my patient you're groping. Let me have him a second, and then you can have him back."

"What? I'm busy here!" House grinned, and then affected a serious look before turning around to look at the 'intruder'. "Oh, it's just you."

"Just me." Cohen said in agreement. "I'm here to give Dr. Chase his rehab schedule and some literature on what he can do in the in-between times. I'll leave the lip and and hand exercises to you, though." She promised. "You seem to have a good handle on it."

"Ohhhh, was that innuendo?" House asked, raising his brows affecting a look of surprise.

"Take it as you like, Dr. House." Cohen said, dropping off the papers onto the lap-table next to Chase's bed. "Remember, you can't have actual sex yet, so keep the hands above the waistline, sunshine!" She warned them as she made her way back out the door.

"That's your Physical Therapist?" House asked, jerking his thumb backward in the direction she'd disappeared.

Chase nodded, smiling. She wasn't too bad, really. She was refreshingly normal. She didn't even rate having rumors passed around. It was nice.

"I like her. So far." He amended that last bit. "That is of course, always subject to change at any given moment!"

Chase chuckled, remembering the dietician that hadn't lasted more than a minute before House decided he didn't like her anymore. He'd not seen hide nor hair of her since that brief encounter, and he hoped he never did again.

"We're here!" Sarah called out, before she ever even reached the room. Her arms extended in front of her for a big hug. "How's my favorite nephew?" She asked, already trying to drag him over to kiss his cheek. She'd had to hip the bed to the side a little to get in to get to him, but the bed scooted easily for her.

House squirmed and fought off her arms, trying to detach her. She reminded Chase of an octopus or a squid. One of those animals with lots of arms and clung to you with suction cups! Only wearing way too much make-up and hair dyed too blonde to be real. It conjured a strange picture in his head, and he chuckled.

"Aunt Sarah! You know I hate that!" House bitched, pushing at her arms and trying to get her to 'go away'. "Get off of me, woman! You're going to kill me with your mush!"

"Yes, and that's why I do it, sweetie." She cooed and pulled him down kissing his cheek despite his protests. Then she kissed Chase's. Chase offered no resistance because he knew there was no point. Besides, it would just go quicker if he got it over with.

"Now, ready to go? I rented a van." She clapped her hands, grinning. "Dr. Wilson warned me that you had a lot of things to take home!"

RJ and three other nurses had come. Not because they other three wanted to 'see them off' but because someone had to push wheelchairs and the carts. RJ was the only one that would be sorry to see them go, but also happy that they were 'better'. The other three, would have been happy to drop it all out of the window, including House.

"We're riding in style!" House joked as he sat down in one of the wheelchairs. "Once around the park, good man!" He pointed toward the doorway. He put his cane over his armrests, looking for all the world like royalty being carried through a cheering crowd.

For the most part, the ride downstairs was quiet. Loading the van up, too longer than the actual trip downstairs. Loading Chase up into the van, was a bit of an adventure, but not too bad all things considered. Everything seemed to be going smoothly. That meant, something had to go wrong, and soon.

As soon as they were in their seats. House groaned and Chase knew that something was about to reveal itself. Something that obviously irritated House, and that he had been expecting. He could have at least warned Chase!

Sarah drove the exact opposite of House. She took a full three minutes, just to pull out of her spot and into the lot. Then she waited until every car that was within half a mile was out of her way, before she pulled into traffic. At least, that is how it seemed to Chase. He himself would have already been gone within the first two minutes.

"I coulda pulled out ten times, woman, inna time ya did it!" Lee bitched, glaring at his niece and pulling on the strap of his seatbelt as though it was too tight.

"Uncle Lee? I'm the one driving. I'd take it as a kindness if you didn't distract me. I need both eyes on the road, and to concentrate." Sarah chided with a huff. "Driving is a defensive sport. You always have to watch the other people, or they are going to hit you!"

"I'm gonna be doin' the hittin' iffin ya don' get goin'!" Lee threatened good-naturedly.

House sighed and turned to Chase. "On the upside, by the time we get home, you should already be healed up and ready for the brace to come off. It'll be a moot point!"

"Was that a comment about my driving, Gregory?" She called back, using the rear view mirror to look at him. She looked rather tense. Chase figured that underneath it all, she was probably scared of driving.

"Yes." House yelled, widening his eyes and looking earnest. "You drive slower than Gramma Moses! I could limp home faster than you drive!"

"I'm a very careful driver." She announced, irritated. She gripped the steering wheel tightly, and was scanning the road as though they were actually in a demolition derby, and the other drivers were out to get her.

"Ya know yer allowed ta go tha speed limit there? Doncha?" Lee called from his place in the passenger seat. He had one of his legs propped up on something that Chase couldn't see, but it gave him the ability to prop his elbow on his knee easily, his cheek leaning against the back of his fingers that were clasped in a loose fist.

"I am going the speed limit." She told them, pressing her lips together and putting on the 'blinker' to change lanes. Sloooooowly change lanes.

House leaned over and looked between the seats, a hand on each of the front captain seats. "Aunt Sarah? It's 45 miles per hour through here, you're going 35, that is not going the speed limit! I know my math isn't the greatest in the world, but even I know that is ten miles per hour UNDER the speed limit!"

"I'm going the speed limit it should be." She corrected looking superior, nodding to herself. "If this was my hometown? This area would be thirty-five miles per hour. It would be a lot safer, as well."

"You know that 'psychic' pain that Wilson is always going on about?" House asked Chase, his brows furrowed and drawn together. "I think I'm having it now. This can't be the concussion. Concussions don't hurt nearly this much!"

Chase chuckled, smiling and shaking his head. He looked out the window, and he had to admit, they were going pretty slow. Almost 'too' carefully, and that could be just as dangerous as going too fast! Because they could get rear-ended before the cars behind them realized they needed to slow down, not to mention, it tended to throw commuters off their schedule. He imagined she had a line of cars behind her, already pissed off. This was how road rage got started!

"Aunt Sarah? How do you plan to merge with traffic if you don't pick up the pace?" House leaned forward again, holding on to his Uncle's seat. "You have to be going at a decent speed to stay ahead of the oncoming cars! How do you plan on doing that?"

"Carefully!" She told him, without looking at him and instead was almost hanging out the window to see behind them and to the other road.

"Oh my god! We're going to be stuck here forever. I could limp home faster than this with Chase on my back and dragginnnnng the van behind me with a harness!"

"Now, stop exaggerating." She told him, tsking him and giving him a stern look in the mirror before watching the traffic again.

Chase put his head against the glass and sighed. It was cool and smooth and felt good against his skin. They sat, and waited, and waited... and waited... and waited some more. For at least a good ten minutes. Lee was starting to squirm, and House was already making disgruntled noises, occasionally asking if he could drive despite his head wound. She kept saying no. Chase was actually starting to wonder if they should go ahead and risk it, let House drive even if he was seeing double at this point!

"Woman, ya ain't allowed ta drive no more!" Lee finally yelled, frustrated beyond endurance as another five minutes passed with cars whooshing by and a car behind them honking in exasperation and anger. "N'xt time, I'm drivin'!"

"Don't be silly, Uncle Lee. You don't have a driver's license anymore." She scoffed, shaking her head. She creeeeeeped up a little bit, and Chase held hope for a second.

"I drive a sight better than you, girly!" He told her, arms crossed over his chest, glaring at her. "Jest cuz the gov'nment don' think so, don' make it righ'!"

"Wilson's five year old niece drives better than Aunt Sarah." House grumbled under his breath so that only Chase could hear. But finally, she pulled out into the nearest lane. Chase felt like cheering!

It took at least forty five minutes longer than normal to get home. That was even taking into account how long it would take Wilson to drive as the basis for the 'average' time. As soon as the van was in park, House threw open the door, and was out so quickly that Chase wasn't entirely sure the van had truly stopped moving.

"FINALLY!" House yelled loudly. "And we're aliiiiiiiiive! Hello world! WE LIVE!" He kissed the light pole and hugged it.

"You're such a drama queen, Greg." Sarah sighed, popping the hatchback before she got out and went to get the wheelchair for Chase out. "We'll move your junk in as we get to it. For now, we'll just concentrate on getting you two sorted out and resting."

"Well, tha' oughta take a year tha pace you move!" Lee snorted, shuffling to the doorway while House went to get the makeshift ramp to get over the steps.

Once inside, he rolled the wheelchair himself. He needed to build up his arms more. He was feeling stronger, and puttering around the apartment would do wonders for him.

It was funny how this place was now 'home'. It had become so rather quickly and without him even having to be there half the time. It wasn't as sterile as the house that been his childhood home when his parents were together. His father had had servants, and there had been rooms he'd not been allowed in. And it wasn't as rundown as the place he'd had with his mother had been. It was just simply... home.

But even though it hadn't been his home for as long as it had been for House, he still noticed something was amiss. Something was out of place. Something was wrong and didn't feel right!

House must have noticed it as well, because the moment he was in the living room, he reminded Chase of a cat casing their new territory. Looking at everything, almost sniffing the air. "What did you do?" House asked in a near growl.

"Nothing." Sarah denied, making her way to the small kitchen. She'd not even looked at House as she'd said so. Keeping her back to him as she washed her hands in the sink.

"You did something. Something's been touched! What did you touch?" House demanded, leaning on the orthopedic cane and still scanning the room for the elusive 'difference'.

"You're being ridiculous." She sighed, but there was a nervous sound to her denials. "I didn't do anything wrong."

"You're lying. I'm not being ridiculous. You're lying! If I was being ridiculous, you wouldn't have to lie!"

"Greg, you're just being ridiculous." She insisted, but she was opening and closing cabinets, so rapidly that even Chase thought she was acting guilty. "Please, can't you just rest for a few minutes? Just settle in and relax? You don't need to be upset this early in your homecoming! Let me make a nice meal for you two? Gluten free, of course."

"What did you do?" He growled this time, standing over her shoulder and trying to intimidate her a little.

She easily ignored that, but continued to fuss around in a guilty manner, almost looking like she was about to cry. "Nothing to worry about right this second, it can wait, can't it? Till at least after dinner?." She insisted.

"If it wasn't something to worry about, you wouldn't be acting guilty. You would just tell me. You're lying and trying to hide it. What did you DO?" He demanded getting louder.

"Greg, sweetheart..." She sighed sadly. "I just wanted... wanted you to sit down and relax first, before I told you." She turned around slowly, her eyes downcast. "I just wanted to ease you into it."

House's face was perfectly blank, betraying no emotion. Then he told her. "Tell me, now."

She leaned back against the sink, her hands braced on either side. She looked down and then up. "Steve died while you were in the hospital." She finally sighed, looking up at him with a heartfelt frown. She tried to phrase it softly and gently.

House looked up slowly and then nodded once. He didn't say a word before he limped away, heading to the bedroom and shutting the door. Chase heard a 'click' and knew it was locked from the inside.

She shook her head sadly and started cleaning the counters and the table. Getting ready to cook for them. Lee sighed and made himself comfortable in the recliner, closing his eyes and making soft grumbling noises as he relaxed. He cleared his throat a few times and started to nap.

"You should have told him, when it happened." Chase advised Sarah quietly, before backing up and going to the living room. Part of him wanted to go to the bedroom, talk to House, maybe offer some kind of comfort. Part of him thought it would be best to stay in the living room, and wait. Give him time to himself. Whether House would admit it or not, he'd cared about that rat. He might not bawl like a little girl losing her first pet, but he would feel 'something'. Even if it was just quiet contemplation and and a moment of sadness that will pass. Either way, Chase decided to stay in the living room and leave him alone for now.

He parked himself in front of the couch and then transferred himself over to the cushions making himself comfortable. He'd need a pain pill soon, but he could wait for now.

The squeak of the wheel, was definitely missing. The cage itself was gone. The apartment, had been missing something all right. Steve McQueen: the rat extraordinaire, may he rest in peace, had gone to that big exercise wheel in the sky.

Chase sighed heavily and leaned back on the couch. He turned on the television and waited for more shoes to drop.

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	74. Chapter 74

(Note to reviewers of the last chapter. I'm so so sorry I didn't respond to most of you. I've been very sick recently and on bed rest. It is also why I've been slow to update lately. I'm still under the weather, but making an effort to work on the fic regardless. I do appreciate the feedback you leave. Thank you, to all of you.)

"Supper was... um..." Chase trailed off as he lay on the mattress. There hadn't been much to talk about or say over supper. No one had wanted to break the silence. Sarah had looked guilty, Lee had just been tired, and Chase didn't want to push House. The only time House had spoken was to ask if he was eating food or the cardboard that had originally packaged the food. Other than that, House had seemed in his own little world. Sometimes, he'd look toward where he'd sometimes set Steve's cage. But if anyone caught him looking, he'd look away quickly as though he'd not done so at all.

"Yes, now you see why, or at least part of the reason why, I don't go up for Christmas to Aunt Sarah's place. If I want to eat something dry and tasteless, I'll eat unsalted crackers." House said from where he was awkwardly kneeling in front of Chase. "Or cardboard." He made a face. His voice was uncharacteristically quiet. Still thoughtful. Still 'hurt'.

Chase looked at House's bandage from his vantage point. He had changed the bandage and also checked the wound site where they'd operated just before House had announced he wanted to go to bed. It was bright compared to the lighting in the room. Almost as though it were glowing. Or, perhaps that was his medicine making him think so.

Now though, House was returning the favor by checking the incision site on Chase's back. He felt the back-brace loosen and frowned. "What are you doing?" He turned his head, but tried to keep from turning or twisting his back.

"Checking to see where this thing rubs. Make sure you're not getting sores." House said simply. He ran his fingertips over the skin, gently rubbing something that was slick over all the points that the brace had touched. "Just... relax." He murmured.

Chase laid still, closing his eyes and enjoying his momentary freedom. Even though, he wanted to jump up and 'run' away from the braces and the imprisonment they meant. Not that he could run either way. House methodically rubbed gentle but sure over his body, working out kinks and aches that Chase hadn't even realized were there until he was relaxing under the man's touch. It felt so... good. He felt cared for. He wondered if House was hoping that by doing this once in a while, he might be able to stave off some of the... almost Claustrophobic... reaction to the braces.

But all too soon, it had to end.

"I'll never be into bondage again." He'd sighed sadly as he was fastened back into what he was starting to think of as torture equipment.

"Ohhhh, now don't say that." House told him as he pulled himself up onto the bed and stood. "Just a few more weeks, and you'll be out of those. And then in a few months? Who knows? Besides, you'll probably want to tie me up long before that point." He smirked.

"That's true. There's been many many maaaaany times I pictured tying you up and gagging you over the years. Just not in the fun way." Chase chuckled as House lightly bopped him on top of the head and then crawled into the bed from the foot.

Chase noted that he pretty much dragged his right leg behind him before laying on his left side behind Chase. "I could have scooted to be by the wall." He told him. He frowned. House had been so quiet over the last few hours. The man was never going to really admit that he was upset over his pet, but in his silence, all was revealed.

"Could have. But if I have to have this bed by the wall, for now, at last until I can bribe someone to move things again? I'd rather have my back against the wall." House explained as he watched Chase from his position on the bed. "Besides, if you snore, I can kick you off the bed."

Chase was aware that the other man was joking, well, at least he hoped he was joking. Either way, he just smiled and rolled over onto his own left side, sliding back a little so that he wasn't going to fall off the bed. "I would think by now, you'd know if I snore or not." He chuckled, resting one of his hands under his cheek.

"Stop using that Earth Logic. It's annoying." House slide one of his arms around Chase's waist. Chase closed his eyes, smiling a little. It felt so good, and he was surprised by the fact that House initiated such contact on his own without prompting.

"So, you've looked up the term logic since our conversation about it." Chase smiled, gently laying his hand on top of House's over his stomach, holding it there.

"Yes, and I've decided that it is an annoying idea. Unless, I'm the one using it." House spoke into Chase's neck. He could feel the brush of whiskers, the wiry hair that pricked and was like so many tiny needles. Yet, it was also comforting when mixed with his hot breath and the soft lips attached.

"Of course." Chase chuckled, rolling back slightly to feel the heat of the other man's body against his. He wanted so much to arch his back and stretch, but that was impossible at the moment.

"How do you feel... about dogs." House asked, seemingly out of the blue.

Though, when Chase thought about it, it wasn't really out of the blue. He'd been wondering all evening about how House was taking the loss of his pet. He'd not mentioned one word about it since they'd found out that Steve had passed away. He'd almost thought that House wasn't going to even bring it up. And technically, one could say, he wasn't. But the fact that he was asking about a pet, well...

"Dogs? I like dogs." Chase said carefully, though he almost suggested a cat. House seemed more like a cat person to him. On the other hand, rumor had it that House had dog-sat for someone once and seemed to have bonded to it for a short time. True, it was a rumor, but sometimes rumors had a basis in fact. "Dooooes... your apartment lease allow for dogs?" he asked. "I know my old apartment didn't."

"I can have anything I want." House told him, wiggling closer so that his chest was flush with the back-brace. Chase wished they could be skin to skin. That would be better.

"You mean, you can have anything you want so long as your landlord doesn't find out." Chase chuckled. There had been a few times he'd considered doing the same. Getting a small pet, and sneaking it in. But he'd always feared getting caught.

"No, I mean... I can have anything I want." House repeated. "I've lived here, for sixteen years now. What kind of hypocrite, would make fun of his friend for living in a hotel, paying what amounts to be 'rent' weekly, for a year? And then pays 'rent' for one apartment for sixteen years? Especially, when they would obviously, or should obviously have enough money to buy their own house, and would have more room for their junk?" House asked, seriously. "And we all know, I love my 'junk'."

"According to Wilson, someone that hates change." Chase said carefully as he thought about it. "But... if, you were that hung up on not having huge changes in your life, such as moving... you would... make sure... that the landlord couldn't sell the place and eventually kick you out." He slowly started to smile as he put it together in his head. "So... if you did have the money to buy a 'house'... why not buy... an apartment building, collect rent from your neighbors, and never have to move ever..."

"And to make sure no one ever bothered me, about repairs, or... whatever... I could hire someone to play 'supervisor', have him make the repairs, give him an apartment for 'free' upstairs... and never have to worry about spreading salt for the sidewalks, or having to call a plumber again!" House continued. "I bought it, after Stacy left. A couple of years before that, the pipes had burst, and we had to wait an entire day for our landlord to call a plumber. Very irritating." He explained. "Now, if something happens? I just call Burt upstairs, and he comes down and fixes it. He's so happy about having a place to live, that he doesn't mind that I barely pay him anything!"

"Not too shabby." Chase chuckled, amused. "So, you actually do have neighbors? I had wondered about that."

"I rent to nice quiet people, that never bother me." House nodded behind him. Chase could feel the scrape of his chin against his shoulder. "They also keep their noses to themselves, and best of all... they're hard of hearing!" House laughed quietly. "I can play my piano or my guitar at three in the morning, and no one will complain because they take their hearing aids out at night! All I have to worry about is one day smelling someone decaying because they kicked off earlier in the week and no one noticed!"

Chase rolled his eyes, but still chuckled. Leave it to House to figure that was the only drawback. Rotting corpses.

"Now... dog." House said, trying to get the conversation back on track. "You're not allergic?"

"No." Chase smiled. "No allergies. And, I have no problem with dogs. Do you have a preference on dogs? I don't have a preference."

"Nothing too yappy. Nothing too big. Like someone once said, you don't want their assholes above your eye level. Bad enough when you're trying to avoid stepping on dog piles, you don't want to have to duck them too."

That made Chase laugh as he thread his fingers through House's. "Good point. Um... probably nothing too high strung that needs to go jogging. Neither of us will be doing that. So, medium to small... non-yappy. This, might take research."

"We'll start tomorrow... after we get rid of Aunt Sarah." House muttered.

"How do you plan on doing that?" Chase asked. "Why are you getting rid of your Aunt? She's sorry she didn't tell you..."

"You'll see. Don't worry. I have a plan. And it isn't because of Steve. It's because, I don't like having a house full of people. I like my privacy. Neither of us are going to die in the middle of the night, and even if we did, she'd be no help anyway." House told him, murmuring in his ear. "For now, go to sleep. We've had all our pills, and now... we sleep, for tomorrow... we plot to take over the world. Or, at least my apartment."

He heard House take a deep breath and let it out slowly as he relaxed. Chase closed his eyes and concentrated on the feeling of the other man's hand, and the pressure of his chest against his back. Someday, he'd be able to feel it more directly, without plastic and straps and such in the way. Until then, he enjoyed the soft puffs of breath on his neck and the weight of his arm.

The sound of House's breathing, was soothing, as he fell asleep.

He felt House crawling out of bed, and cracked his eyes open to see that the bedside clock pronounced it only eight in the morning. Experience had long taught Chase that House did not tend to get up before he just had to, which is why he was surprised to see House scooting down the bed and limping toward the cell phone sitting on the tall dresser on the wall.

House returned to the foot of the bed and dialed a number. Chase turned onto his back, carefully, log rolling to do so and tried to listen.

"Hey, Uncle Louis? Hey, how are you?" House said brightly, but also keeping it quiet. It was obvious he was trying not to alert the rest of the apartment that he was up to something no good.

"Mmmhmm, I thought that might be the case. Look, I have an idea that will solve both our problems. I need you, to call Aunt Sarah in about oh, ten minutes, and tell her that... name one of her cats?" He paused to hear the list. "Tell her that Gus is vomiting and that you think there may be blood in his kitty litter... what do you mean Gus is a girl? Who names their female cat 'Gus'? Whatever, just... call her and tell her that her precious is sick... I can guarantee she'll be home by dinner time, and you'll finally be eating something other than bologna and ketchup."

He hung up without saying good bye, and smiled as he lay down, staring up at the ceiling. House looked so smug that Chase couldn't help but smile. He knew that House tended to plot against people, and manipulate them. But he rarely got to see it first hand. Usually, he just saw the results.

In the other room, he heard another cell phone go off, loud and obnoxious. Uncle Louis was a man who was in a hurry and had no patience. He wanted his wife back, and wanted her now!

Five minutes later, Sarah was at the door, in a near panic. "Oh, my dears. I have to go. An absolute emergency at home. Now, if you need anything, you can call that nice Doctor Wilson. Lee is still asleep on the cot in the living room. And his medicine is in the kitchen. Make sure he takes it, and you all take your meds too. And you call and let me know if you hear anything about your mother or your father, or if either of you two have a turn for the worse!" She was practically flying through the room, giving them quick kisses and hugs before running out and throwing her things in her travel back. "Now, there's plenty of food in the kitchen. I stocked your pantry, your cabinets, and your freezer and fridge. So you should be fine for a while... I love you! Love you all!" She grabbed her keys and the next thing they heard was the slam of the door.

"You know, that was kind of mean." Chase chuckled. He leaned back further into his pillow, trying to school his face into a disapproving frown. It wasn't working, but he was trying. The fact was? The apartment suddenly felt less oppressive with one less person staying there. Like someone had just opened a window in a muggy room on a hot and oppressive summer day, letting a breeze of fresh air in. Sarah was nice, but she was everywhere! And Chase also liked his privacy.

"Yeahhhhhh, but she's gone isn't she? And that cat is going to be pampered for the next week, while Uncle Louis will do everything in his power to keep her home so she'll cook for him. For some damn reason, he LIKES her food. I think it might have something to do with the fact that he's a two pack a day man and puts Tabasco sauce on everything. Not to mention, he drinks beer like we would drink water!"

In other words, he didn't taste anything, and was too drunk to usually notice a difference.

"One down!" House grinned like a maniac as he sat back up. "Now, if I can just get rid of the rest of my family! Everything will go back to what I think of as 'normal' and 'right' in my world."

"So are you going to be doing something similar with your Uncle?" Chase asked, curious as he furrowed his brows and tilted his head. He thought that House really liked the old man.

"No, not exactly. If I wanted to make him go home, I'd just turn him in." House sighed deeply. There was a new pensive look on House's face. It was hard to qualify what that look really was. It was sad and concerned. But it kind of reminded him of the look he'd gotten on his face when he heard about Steve. Chase was learning that the face itself, didn't give away much. It was the eyes. House's eyes were where you had to look to see what he felt. It was just that with his mouth usually running, one tended to miss the look he might have in his eyes.

"Turn him in? Wait... what?" Chase carefully sat up. That was new information! It never occurred to him that Lee might not be 'allowed' to be there. "What do you mean turn him in?"

"Uhhhh..." House grimaced, looking away. "Let's just say, Uncle Lee probably didn't let the people that he technically 'lives with' know that he was coming."

"Who does he 'live with'?" Chase made 'quotation' marks with his fingers. He squinted over at the other man, though he already had a good idea what he meant by now.

"Did we ever settle the question on whether or not it is called 'Assisted Living' or a 'Nursing Home'?" House raised his brows and tilted his head back to look at Chase.

Chase raised his brows and gaped. He'd figured as much, but it still wasn't the same as hearing that he was right. Suspicion and knowing were two different things, at this point. "You mean... They're probably worried sick about him!"

"They're only worried about someone suing them." House waved a dismissive hand. "And only I or Sarah give a crap about him, so they have nothing to really worry about! Besides, the fact that he got all the way up here in one piece, and he remembered to steal his own meds, tells me that he's just fine. Maybe he needs someone to be with him, sure, in case he falls and breaks a hip! But look at you? You're thirty-three, you have a broken back, AND a broken hip! Not only were you NOT alone, but a doctor broke the hip! So... we know that doesn't really help with anything."

"On the other hand, it wouldn't take a week before someone comes to investigate a suspicious smell so that the landlord knows it is time to rent the apartment again." Chase pointed out, frowning. He felt a bit mean to put it that way, but House tended to be blunt, so he might as well be.

"There is some truth to that." House nodded. "On the other hand, if he was nearby, say... upstairs in 221C or next door, in 221A? I'd probably check on him a lot more than I did Mrs. Johnson."

"Uhhhh, is Mrs. Johnson... dead?" Chase asked, raising his brows, and wrinkling his nose. Well, that was pretty gross.

"Mmmm, we could call it... Living-Challenged?" House wiggled his hand from side to side in a so-so manner. "I hope she's dead. They buried her last month. Otherwise, that might be a bit awkward!"

"You have an open apartment?" Chase asked in a considering voice. He wasn't sure what he thought about Lee living there, but he had some ideas in general about who SHOULD get one of those apartments.

"I have two open apartments." House held up his fingers. "A and C. D is where my handyman lives. C is in the process of moving to Florida, to a retirement village with his girlfriend. His girlfriend is eighty." He explained, looking vaguely irritated. "She... seduced him... with visions of golf. The harlot! He always paid his rent on time, and he's healthy and deaf as a post. I was looking forward to at least five more years of rent out of him!"

"Oh, the things that those old people get up to when they don't have proper supervision." Chase shook his head in mock sadness. "I bet they have sex and everything!"

"I know they do." House shuddered, pointing up at the ceiling. "But it took me a month to figure out that was what they were doing. I'm used to, you know... bang bang bang bang bang. You know, kind of with a beat you can dance to! But for a while, I thought he'd taken up a hobby that involved woodworking. You know... bang bang... tap tap... bang bang... wait ten minutes... bang bang... tap tap tap... and then a cheer of 'yay' for finishing it. Imagine my horror when I realized that was just him getting it on!"

Chase was trying not to laugh, but he couldn't stop himself, despite the pain in his back and thigh waking up to poke him with sharp sticks. Though, he had to admit his thigh wasn't hurting nearly as much as it used to. It was mostly his back. And still, he was laughing.

"If I stick my Uncle up there? I won't have to worry unless I see a hooker walk up, and since I won't be needing a hooker for myself..." He pointed up at the ceiling again. "I'll have a good idea where she'd be heading!"

"And what happens at that point?" Chase asked, smiling over at him and tilting his head.

"I finally agree to go to therapy for the trauma that imaging and 'hearing' that will bring." He shuddered. "So I'll probably rather stick him in A, rather than C, because, then, if a hooker does show up, all I'll have to do is turn my stereo up and try to repress the memory."

"You know what you should do?" Chase said quietly. "You have that guy play 'Supervisor' so no one really realizes you're the landlord right?"

"Yeahhhhh..." House raised a brow. "Annnnd?"

"Tell Wilson, you heard that... C is coming up open. You don't have to admit to him that he's paying you rent, and he'll have an apartment he can afford. Some place for him to put real roots down. You can watch him in his 'habitat' without having him underfoot. He'll be close enough for you to bug, and close enough for him to enable you, while locking the door before he's driven to kill you..." Chase suggested.

"Your idea has merit... but it will need... the proper execution." House sat back up. "We'll work on it. For now, I'm going to see what my Uncle thinks of moving into a former dead woman's apartment. Or would that be 'current' dead woman, since she's still dead?" He grabbed his cane and limped out of the bedroom, leaving Chase on the bed. House had that particular 'sad' look in his eyes again, and Chase wondered what it was that House was not telling him.

Chase took a deep breath and reached his hand out to drag his chair closer, and then, putting his weight on his left leg raised himself so he could transfer himself to his chair. His back protested, but he expected that. He really needed his morning pills at this point.

First stop, bathroom. He knew the theory of doing it by himself. He was sure he could do it! And after a few false starts getting the chair in a good position, he did indeed manage going back and forth from the chair to the toilet and back. He'd been afraid that washing his hands would be a problem, but the sink was lower than he expected, making it the perfect height. He wondered if that was because House had been in a wheelchair for a long time after the Infarction, but knew better than to ask.

By the time he got out to the living room, he was surprised to hear House 'whining'. "Oh, but why not? You'd be right next door! It would be great."

"I ain't livin' up here. It's colder than a witch's tit up thisa way! I hated Kansas, an' I hate New Jersey. Only came up ta visit wit' y'all!" Lee reached out and shook House's shoulder, grinning. "'Sides, I gotta good thing down there!" He said in a comforting manner. "You don't be worryin' about this ol'man. I got it covered. Now, shouldn't ya be makin' yerself comfy now that Sarah ran outta here like tha hounds of hell were nippin' at her heels?"

House didn't look happy, but he smiled and nodded. "When are you planning on going... home?" House asked.

"Soon 'nuff. Innabout a day or two." Lee smiled slightly, leaning back. "Jest wanted ta see the big 'finish'. Far as I'm concerned, ya tellin' that bastard off? That was it. I saw it. Now that I know y'll be testifyin' against him. Tha' ya are really gonna get on wit' it all? Yer life an' all? It'll all be fine. Jest fine!"

Lee suddenly leaned forward once more and hugged his nephew. "An' you'll be takin' care of yerself, right?"

"Yes, Uncle Lee..." House awkwardly hugged his Uncle in return before the old man leaned back, smiling.

"Well then, ya get back to goofin' off and enjoy yer vacation from work... and I'll enjoy mine." Lee arched his back slightly as he adjusted himself, and went back to watching television while House stood up and thumped his way to the kitchen. Chase followed him and frowned.

"He prefers 'home', I guess..." Chase said carefully, he was noting the look on House's face which was one of grim acceptance.

"Yeah... that... and he's dying." House sighed, leaning against the counter. "He will go down there, and die, by himself. That way, we all remember him as he is, instead of him frail and dying in a bed. We won't have that 'moment' when we discover him. Instead, we'll get a phone call. All the 'work' will already be done, and all that will be left is to have a Wake. Which is what he'll want, no doubt."

Chase's mouth fell open, looking up at the older man. True, he'd known that Lee was, well... old. But he hadn't realized that... the man seemed so... alive! House opened the cabinet, and took down several bottles of pills. He handed them to Chase to examine. Chase felt his stomach drop as he took in the names of the medications. "These are all..."

"His." House nodded. "I figure he's probably got a couple of months left. He's just... waiting for the end. This was his last trip."

"Talk to him again, tell him you know and that..." Chase gripped the arm rests of his wheelchair, desperately trying to figure out how to make this better. How to 'fix' this.

"He knows I know." House sighed. "And, he is as stubborn if not more so than I am. Where do you think I got it from?" He asked Chase with a sigh, picking up all the pill bottles and putting them up. "Another day, or two, he'll go home. In a month, or two... who knows... I'll get a phone call. And that'll be it."

House pulled down a clean coffee mug, looked at it, studied it. "I will miss having someone wash up after us... Aunt Sarah was at least good for that." He put it on the counter and poured himself a cup, before pulling out more meds and handing them to Chase. These, Chase recognized as his.

Next was the glass full of water. After that, House opening the freezer and frowned. He shut it, and looked at Chase. "How do you feel about pudding for breakfast?"

"Let me guess. We're not entirely confident in what I can eat, other than candy?" Chase laughed as House rooted around the full fridge and pulled out two containers of pudding. A spoon and that was presented as 'breakfast'.

"I... need to do some more research." House wrinkled his nose. "I'm sure of the pudding and the jello. It also has the added benefit of less dishes needing to be cleaned later."

Chase shook his head, amused. It was funny, because before all this, he'd tried to eat at least somewhat healthy. Even when he felt like crap later, he just brushed it off and concentrated on the work. Or he'd just skip a meal here and there. Now, he was eating pudding because it was the one thing they were sure of that didn't have gluten in it. Yes, he was amused.

In the other room, he could hear Lee cough. House paused in his movements, and then continued on, as though he'd heard nothing at all.

Chase sighed and slowly ate his pudding his amusement draining away. He knew that if Wilson was here, he'd try to push House into talking. House would probably clam up, and nothing would be solved.

"So..." Chase said in the ensuing silence. "I'm thinking whatever dog we get, it should be at least short hair. Long hair, you get more shedding issues. Not to mention you have to brush them more. Short hair, less time brushing hair."

That seemed to catch House's attention, and Chase considered it a win. House asked, "How do you feel about floppy ears? Short perky ears? Or floppy?"

Chase pretended to give this all due consideration, as though he were truly weighing the pros and cons of ear length. He tapped his finger against his chin for a few seconds and then slowly unwrapped the bandage from his hand. His hand felt a lot better, and since it had only been a minor injury, well... he felt it was better. House gave him a vaguely annoyed look, but didn't say anything. "I would have to say, of the two... Floppy for dog ears, perky for women's breasts. That's what I prefer."

House was startled into a small laugh. He smiled and looked down at his pudding cup. "Okay, short hair, floppy years... sounds like a hound of some kind. Smallish, maybe we're looking at a beagle or perhaps, even a basset hound."

Chase chuckled. It sounded like a differential! "They'll still need exercised." He reminded. Some shelters and rescue operations wouldn't let you adopt a dog if you didn't have a fenced in yard or the ability to exercise them.

"Yes, but then, I could always have Wilson walk it, or the handyman. We have a small bit of yard in the back. It's fenced in. Let it run out there and then bring it in. No one really uses it for anything. Might as well let it poop out there and get exercise."

"Sounds like a good plan to me." Chase agreed.

"Basset Hounds tend to have more chance of genetic abnormalities than a beagle. But beagles, from what I remember, like to run around more. Though, admittedly, it's been a few years since I've been around them." House pondered the questions aloud.

"Guess, if we got a Basset, we'd have to make sure it got to the vet, probably before we actually got it?" Chase tilted his head.

"Depends on what the abnormality is. Sometimes surgery will correct the defect. Depends." House pointed out, pouring himself a new cup of coffee.

Chase gave him an amused look. "You would spend thousands of dollars, on surgery and treatment, to fix a dog's defect?"

"We're spending thousands of dollars on surgery and treatment to fix yours." House pointed out. "If we're bringing a dog into our home, and can afford it, why not? Not to mention, imagine what we'd learn! Haven't you ever been curious about Veterinarian medicine? Every vet visit would be an adventure in science!"

"You want to get a dog, that potentially could develop a defect... just because you might learn something?" Chase asked carefully to make sure he understood. "What if it dies?"

That was after all a major concern at the moment. The man was trying to repress his 'grief' over the rat by getting a dog. If the dog died? Wouldn't that make it worse?

"No! I'm wanting at dog, because I want something to throw a ball to. It's just... if it developed something, I'm not going to... throw it away. Or send it back! I'd just take it... as an opportunity to learn something new." House corrected. "Hopefully, it wouldn't die, because then it would be a waste of money and time. I mean, after all, if we go into a differential for a patient with the attitude 'oh well, they might die', then what is the point of finishing one? Besides, by all that logic, you would have been put to sleep months ago! I'm not taking you back to the shelter now! I've got too much time and effort invested in you!"

"Soooo... it's more like looking for the silver lining in the storm cloud? You want a dog, and if it got sick, we'd at least learn how it will get cured. And that will be worth the time, money, and effort to make it well?" Chase asked. "You're the King of Rationalization, aren't you?"

"Yes." House nodded. "And you're the King of Denial. Together, we will rule our kingdom with an iron hand. You'll deny we're tyrants, and I'll rationalize why we're taxing the hell out of the peasants!"

Chase blew out a long breath slowly. It really wasn't ever worth arguing with House. He'd win anyway, and what was the harm? It would be nice to have a pet that could potentially play with you, lay down beside you, and respond with affection just to hear their name. "Well, sounds like we're getting a Basset Hound!"

"Sounds like a plan to me." House nodded slowly. He rinsed his coffee cup out and put it in the drainer.

The phone rang and House pulled it out of his pocket. He looked at the number showing up, and then answered it. "House's House of Sin. Tell us your fantasy?"

Chase looked over, wondering who it was that was on the phone now. "Uh huh... right. Well... good to know. I'll... Thanks." He pushed the end button and threw the phone onto the table.

"That was Stacy." House didn't look up at Chase. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "My mother. Has agreed to. Testify... against my father." He blinked and looked almost confused. "And the charges, have been dropped against my mother... so long as she testifies. She took the deal."

He blinked again, then finally looked over at Chase. Chase could see that House wasn't sure what to feel about it. Nothing like this had ever happened to House. Chase had already figured out that in the past, each and every time, Blythe had chosen her husband over her son. This was an 'anomaly'.

"You didn't really believe she'd do it, did you?" Chase asked quietly. In his place, he wouldn't either.

"No, I didn't." House said faintly, looking away and out the window. "I also didn't think Tritter would be willing to drop them, if she did try to take a deal."

"Well, she does have the benefit of never having left a thermometer up his arse and leaving it there. Not to mention, Stacy is nearly as scary as Cuddy. Who are both scarier than you are." Chase snorted.

"Yessss, there's that too. If it wasn't for the fact that I knew Stacy was still mad at me at the time, I would have called her. I probably would never have gotten as far as court." He admitted. "I'm still not sure why the hell she's forgiven me now!"

"For... kind of... breaking up with her?" Chase asked. Because even though there was never 'official' news that they'd been 'together', pretty much everyone knew 'something' had happened.

"I... sent her home. To her husband." House said awkwardly. "Needless to say, she wasn't happy with me."

"Maybe it's because she's had enough time between? And realizes she belonged with her husband?" Chase offered. He didn't really always understand how a woman's mind worked. They seemed to be creatures from another planet sometimes. Not that they weren't wonderful creatures! They were! They were great. It was just that they were so much more complicated sometimes.

"Or she figures since I'm with a 'guy'... nothing was 'wrong' with her. Which, there wasn't anything 'wrong' with her. But you know women, they read way too much into everything." House shook his head. "Either way? I'm not going to bitch. She's being nice to me this time. I can use this!"

There was another cough from the living room and House tensed, pressing his lips together. There was a 'hiss' of an inhaler from the other room. Then there was a minute of silence, and then another hiss. House scratched his forehead with his thumb, edging near where the stitches were, but without actually dislodging the bandage. "We're going to go insane, just sitting here all day for the next few days. Even taking account our 'at home' rehab for you. Any place you would like to go? Visit?" He asked. "Museum? Strip joint? Los Vegas?"

"Hmmm..." Chase finished his pudding and put the container down. "We'd have to have someone drive us to the strip joint. And I just don't see Wilson doing that. We might on the other hand talk him into taking us to a museum or... We could go see a movie, but it might kill your leg. Los Vegas? Uhhhh... I think we'd need a couple of plane tickets."

"Anything we do, will probably kill my leg." House reasoned. "But, sitting in here, wondering what is going on, in there... or with my mother, or with the court case? That's going to kill my brain. I can't live with boredom. They won't give me cases. There's only so much I can do here before I start to crawl up the walls. How long before you start imagining beating me with my own cane?" He asked, giving Chase a narrow look.

"Oh, at least two days." Chase said as seriously as possible, waving his hand dismissively. "Three if I can talk you into giving me a strip tease and lap dance. But I do seem to recall that you and boredom go together like bacteria and antibiotics!"

"So, we're going to need things to do, other than watch movies on the boobtube and eating pudding. The strip tease and lap dance is negotiable." House leaned back on his chair, making it balance back on two legs. "Any movies out you want to watch?"

"Not sure. I'm not even sure what is out." Chase said as he shook his head.

"Me neither." House made a face and let his chair fall back to all four legs. Another soft cough from the other room, and House swiped up his phone. He didn't have to dial a whole number, because it was on speed dial on his phone. "Wilson... how do you feel about playing hooky today?"

"Yesssss, I know you have a 'real' job with more than 'one' patient a week. But I'm booooooored. You have to come entertain me. I'd have Chase entertain me, but then Turner will lecture me for giving him another heart attack." House 'whined'. "You're mean. Come after work then, and bring... I don't know. Something without gluten in it."

House hung up the phone and sighed. "Finding take out for you, is going to be such a bitch!"

"Yessss, I'm sorry that my digestive problems are putting a crimp in your take-out purchases. Nothing is stopping you from eating without me?" Chase pointed out, smiling slightly.

"No, but then you'll sit over there looking all sad and pathetic. And then someday when you're about to give me nookie, you're going to remember that I didn't have Wilson bring you something yummy, and you're going to lose the mood." House told him.

"Uh, no. Because I'm not a teenage girl!" Chase laughed. "I'm not going to withhold sex over a slight from months beforehand."

"Oh, yeah! I'll call him back and totally have him bring pizza!" House made as though to dial the phone again, all wide eyes and feigned innocence.

"On second thought..." Chase laughed shaking his head. It did suck being left out.

"See, thought so!" House nodded. "You may not be a girl and hold a grudge long after the guy has forgotten. But no guy would turn down free take out when it is offered!" He said with great wisdom.

Chase fell quiet, looking back toward the living room. Lee was asleep in the recliner now. He wondered what was going through House's mind. He knew that on one hand, House was the kind that wanted to keep going until a cure is found, or a treatment.

But there was no cure here. No treatment. No point in one either at this point. It was just... waiting. House wanted to be near his Uncle, obviously. Part of why he wanted his Uncle to live next door. He loved his Uncle.

And then on the other hand, hearing him cough, knowing what was coming... that had to hurt. Lee probably knew it would hurt his nephew too. Which is why he was insisting on going 'home'. He wasn't going to put his family through the pain. Didn't want them to see him grow weaker and weaker, making those last moments what would stand out in their minds most for years to come.

He felt as though someone just threw cold water over him. His father, had two months left, and had come to see him. But had insisted that no one tell Chase. He bit his lip, closed his eyes and tilted his head up toward the ceiling. Surely he hadn't thought he was 'sparing' Chase? But why wouldn't he tell Chase? If he truly hated his son, he had nothing to lose by telling him the truth. Damn him. Neither of the Chase men had ever been good at talking to one another and saying what they thought. Telling how they really felt. Instead, they just let one another infer what they 'meant'. Of course, assumptions led to nothing good.

"You... have either had an epiphany, or you're in pain. It can be a bit hard to tell those apart with you. Care to share?" House asked from where he was sitting.

"Not really." Chase shook his head. Not right now, at least. "Just one of those things."

What would he have done, had his father told him? Would he have... dropped everything and gone home? Would everything have been forgiven?

Well, no, not really. He would have pretended that everything was forgiven. He would have gone home. Played the role of the good son, and lost his Fellowship. He would have had to fight for a new position, and probably wouldn't have been able to come back to the United States at all. His father would have died, knowing that not only did Chase not truly forgive him, but that Chase would be out of a job, and screwed trying to get another one. He'd have died listening to Chase and his step-siblings fight over things in the hallway, knowing that Chase would not inherit anything of consequence while the step family got it all. It all would have been for nothing... just bitter memories of two months in hell. At least, Chase had the benefit of ignorance being bliss. And while he'd screwed up, big time, with a patient. Well, he'd learned some valuable lessons out of that too.

He sighed deeply and rubbed his forehead. Fuck. This... this... He didn't want to think anymore!

"We... should..." He grabbed House's phone and dialed a number from memory. He then dialed another series of numbers, and then shut it off. Within a few minutes, the phone rang back, leaving House staring at him with a look of quiet contemplation. "Hello? Yeahhhh... um..."

He bit his lip. "Would you... like to play hooky today? With me and House?" He tapped his finger against the armrest and waited for the reply. "Come onnnnn, you won't get into any trouble. How often do you play hooky?"

"Uh..." His eyes darted from side to side. "Sure... you... you can bring him." He winced and House narrowed his eyes at him. He felt instantly guilty, as well as nervous. House was going to kill him!

"See you in an hour." Chase shut the phone off and then cleared his throat.

"Who, did you call?" House gave him a probing glare.

"Cameron..." He said carefully, rubbing his finger against the tabletop and avoiding House's look.

"And... is there any chance in hell she's bringing Foreman? Or one of my new Fellows?" He asked, almost hopeful, but the doubt was also clear on his face. He 'knew'.

"Nooooo, not as such." Chase grimaced, biting his lower lip.

"She isn't." House stated, his face and eyes darkening as he began to glare.

"She is." Chase nodded, giving him an apologetic and hopefully pathetic look.

"She can't." House hissed, grabbing the edge of the table.

"She is." Chase sighed.

"She's INSANE! You're insane! Why did you say yes?" House demanded. "Did you lose your mind some time in the last twenty four hours? Did you have brain damage? I knew we should have had another head scan!"

"Because... I get reckless when I'm bored?" Chase was only half lying. In truth, he wanted out of there so he'd stop having to think about his father and the desire to compare it to Lee's situation. "Come on, how bad could it be? We get out of here for a while. Lee can rest in quiet, and-and-I don't know... maybe it will help with the working relationships? I really do want my friend back. And she... happens... to like the little arsehole!"

"I'll kill Turner!" House claimed, shaking a finger at him.. "Do you really want me in jail too? Do you know what my criminal record is like? They'll throw the book at me!"

"You're not going to go to jail. Surely both of you can go to a public place, and behave." Chase tried to say in a reasonable manner, holding his hands up.

"You really really REALLY have no idea." House told him. "Just for this, I'm taking you to the next reunion. Really. You will have one hell of an education and never ever suggest this again! This is insane! You both are out of your minds. You and Cameron. You can't expect us to be in the same vehicle and get along? That's too close of quarters! We're barely able to exist in the same hospital! The same city! The same STATE!"

"House. Please. The real reason we both want out of here? Is because we don't want to think. You don't want to think today about your Uncle, and... I don't really want to think about such things either." He sighed. "And then later, this evening, we're going to sit in there. Wilson is going to come over. And we're going to pretend that nothing is wrong. We're going to watch movies with the old man. Laugh and joke, play and pretend. And then in a day or two, he's going to leave... and for the rest of your life, you're going to remember the next two days. And they are going to be filled with his eye bright and pleased. Loving you, as though you were his own son." Chase closed his eyes. "But this morning, it is too new and too raw... so we're going to go out. And Turner is going to... piss you off... and Cameron is going to... natter on... about something or another trying to be her sweet and pleasant self. And for the hours we're with them... neither of us are going to be thinking about people in our lives dying. Well, other than wanting to strangle the people we're with."

House slowly nodded. "Then, guess we're going to need to get dressed." He said quietly. He moved around behind Chase's wheelchair after standing. "Weather is warming up a bit. So, you can wear a lighter jacket this time..."

In the bedroom, dressing was a lot easier than it had been in the recent past. He was still reduced to wearing sweatpants and such, but it was better than a hospital gown. They were ready by the time Cameron knocked on the door. House only gave her time to knock the once before opening the door and pushing Chase out the door.

She looked surprised, but stepped back. "Take this... but you don't get to keep him. He's mine now." He told her pushing the wheelchair to her and indicating she should take the handles, before stepping down the doorway and disappearing around the side of the building for their 'ramp'. He brought it back, threw it down, and then gestured for her to push him down to the sidewalk.

"Come on, let's go. Get gimpy and limpy into the car, and let's get out of here before more idiotic relatives show up." Turner yelled from the window of the car, beating on the door with the palm of his hand. "Times ticking!"

"Oh yes, this is going to be loads of fun." House sneered as he picked up the lid and threw it back onto the trash bin with a loud clatter.

"I'm rather surprised to see you here, Dr. Turner." Chase tried to make conversation from the back seat. Turner was sitting in the front, and House was beside Chase. The wheelchair was stowed in the trunk.

"I've been blackmailed into it." Turner told him, without turning around. He sounded disgruntled.

Cameron gave him a look, but smiled, shaking her head. "I did not. Do not believe him, he's just being difficult. I just told him that... if he'd like to have Chicken and Dumplings with biscuits tonight, he'd come out with us and try to have fun! Believe it or not, he is quite capable of enjoying himself, with the right application."

"Ahhhh, the way to a man's heart, is through his stomach. Providing, of course, he has a heart." House said thoughtfully. "The jury is still out on that subject."

"I always found the quickest way to a man's heart is to crack it open." Turner said, just as thoughtfully. "Rib spreader!"

"You always were a bit creepy." House played with the handle of his cane. It wasn't the orthopedic cane. Instead, it was some kind of 'back up' cane that he kept in his closet. It was rather plain, and had nothing of the character of his usual ones. "I remember when you regaled the under fives with the story that all their favorite nursery rhymes were based on death and doom! You were what? Eleven?"

"Like you should talk." Turner shook his head. "You're the one that gave us a play-by-play description of how Egyptian mummies were made, including scraping out their brains through their noses... we were what? Six?"

"Tom." Cameron said sweetly.

It took a moment to realize that it was an admonishment. Just a subtle one. They must have had the same talk that he and House had about trying to get along.

"That was nice of me. I was being nice!" Turner grumbled. "I had half a dozen cutting remarks on the tip of my tongue, and I didn't use any of them. Just pointed out he was being a hypocrite, as usual!"

"I'm very proud of you." Cameron said easily as drove down the street, giving Turner a smile. "Have we decided where we are going?"

"Strip Joint"  
"Movies"  
"Museum."

Cameron was quiet a moment and then said. "Ooookay... movies or the museum."

"I'll compromise! Adult Theatre!" House piped up cheerfully. "There's an 'adult bookstore' attached to it. That's kinda like a museum!"

Chase rolled his eyes, smiling before he shook his head. He looked out the window and snorted in amusement.

"You're such a pervert." Turner sneered. "Museum, a real one. With... guides and displays! NORMAL displays!"

"Movies, we could sit down." House argued. "And just what IS your problem with sex? Did mommy or daddy diddle you when you were a kid? I mean, really?"

"House"  
"House"  
"Asshole!"

"What? I was just asking! I can't be concerned about my cousin's mental health now?" House tried to defend himself. "He's seriously got issues with sex, and not even normal ones! Were my Uncle and Aunt in a cult or something?"

"No, no one 'diddled' me, as you put it! Nor were my parents in a weird cult." Turner said tightly. "Did it ever occur to you that I might just find that it is a private thing and that I just might not enjoy... viewing, or talking... about such things?"

"What are you? An old woman?" House asked. "You have to have reasons! Did you see Oma naked? I mean, loved the woman with all my heart, but I think that would scar ME for life too!"

"Yes. I'm obviously a geriatric woman, can we drop it now?" Turner half asked, half demanded. "And, Greg? EW!"

"Just trying to understand. You're so damn uptight, I'm surprised that you haven't had a heart attack yourself!" House snorted.

Turner turned to Cameron. "Please? Just once?"

"No, just... hold on." She told him in what Chase recognized as her 'supportive' voice. "Chase?"

"What?" He asked in confusion, and then he realized, since she was trying to keep Turner on a leash today, that he was supposed to be holding House's! "Ohhhhh... House? You're not behaving. Bad boy! No biscuits!"

"Well, what are you going to bribe ME with?" House asked. "You can't cook! You can't have sex yet."

"Well, I can't, true, but I could lend a 'helping hand'." Chase wiggled his fingers in front of House's face. "So, think you could lay off for a few minutes? Hey, semen doesn't have gluten, right?"

"Only if we get to go to the movies." House crossed his arms over his chest, and gave Turner a challenging look. But Chase had already seen the glitter of interest in House's eyes. The promise of 'fun' was too much temptation, just by itself.

Turner looked at Cameron and she glanced over at him with a tiny smile. "Cheesecake." She offered.

Turner's eyebrow went up, and she sighed with a wider smile. "With strawberries."

"All right, Allison." Turner grumbled. "Movies."

She smiled and turned at the next stoplight.

"That is absolutely amazing." House leaned over, narrowing his eyes as he looked at Turner. "She has used her... culinary talents... to wrap you around her little finger. Absolutely... amazing."

"She's blackmailing me by using my taste buds against me." Turner bitched. "Uncle Lee armed her with foreknowledge. How is that fair?"

She chuckled and shook her head, amused while she concentrated on driving. She was good for Turner, Chase could see that. Turner might not admit it, but he was taking to her.

House was obviously bored because every once in a while, between playing with his cane, he'd look over at Turner and open his mouth to say something. Chase would then hold his hand up and wiggle his fingers, causing House to shut his mouth quickly.

When Turner would look back and open his mouth, Cameron would lightly clear her throat and smile in a comforting manner. He would in turn sigh and look out the window.

She pulled into a parking place and popped the trunk so that she could get the wheelchair out. "Hope you brought your ID, Tommy. You know they're cracking down on children buying R rated tickets. And we wouldn't want Cameron to get arrested for dating a child." House called out.

"I may be vertically challenged? But guess what I can do?" Turner paused meaningfully. Cameron meanwhile had come over and stood between him and House. "Tom, don't stoop to his level."

"He doesn't have to stoop. He'd have to stand on tip toe just to reach my level!" House said as Chase got into the chair.

"Houuuuuuse." Chase groaned. "You did really good in the car, come on, just a few more minutes. We don't even have to sit with them."

"Oh, it's okay." Turner said with mock sweetness. "He can't help being 'lame'."

"That, THAT, was lame." House told him. And surprisingly, he gave Turner a worried look. His brows drew together and he peered at him closer. "You sick?"

"I know it was. Been rather tired. Not sick?" Turner sighed. "Kind of..." He wiggled his fingers in front of him and shrugged. "Hazy. Dizzy sometimes. But I checked my blood pressure and ran a few tests. Nothing so far to indicate a circulation or neurological problem. Ears are clear too."

House narrowed his eyes and raised his brows. "You feel hazy? And... slightly dizzy."

"Probably just needs more sleep." Cameron said quickly, holding up a hand. "He works very hard, you know. I think he needs more rest!"

"Yes." Chase added just as quickly. "After all, he's still relatively new at the hospital and he has to put the department in order and get used to all the... different... things."

House looked down at Chase and Chase gave him a small and weak smile. "Uh huh. Dizzy and hazy has been going around the hospital at times." House chuckled quietly. "I've had it myself. Amazing how fast it travels all over the hospital. You'll build up an immunity to it, eventually. Tough it out."

House looked over at Cameron who was standing behind Turner. She bit her lip and gave him a pleading look. "Uh huh... I'll give you that one thing, since you're tired." But he said it grudgingly. "And... hazy." Cameron smiled at him, pleased.

House rolled his eyes as they made their way up to the counter and got their tickets. Then he had to go visit the concession bar, making Chase carry everything edible in his lap as well as the drinks tray. He wasn't even sure what it was they were going to see, and he had a bad feeling it had been actually Cameron to pick out the movie.

This was confirmed when the lights went down finally and the previews for other movies had finished.

Turner and Cameron had sat near the front upon Turner's insistence. House and Chase sat in the back which was where they made room for the wheelchairs and other hand'crapped' people, as House called it. They got the very back row on the left side, where one of the doors only opened inward. Because of the positioning of the hall lights, the light tended to spill in toward the right side. They'd have the most darkness from their vantage point.

House went about making himself at home, stretching out his right leg, while taking over the next two seats beside him. Each side of the back row came with three 'regular' seats, and then two places made for wheelchairs to park. The regular seats were nearer to the wall. He put their drinks in the holders, and wedged the other seat down by a means that Chase wasn't too sure should be possible. Then he shrugged out of his jacket, putting it on the back of his seat.

"Comfy yet?" Chase asked, amused.

"Almost. Think they have pillows?" He asked, hopeful.

"Nope." Chase shook his head.

"Damn." House sighed, slumping down further in his seat and opening one of his boxes of candy. "I hope someone dies in this, otherwise, this was a waste of money."

"Can you wait till the beginning credits are over before you bitch?" Chase whispered back.

There weren't too many people in the theatre at this time of day since it was still pretty early. Lunch time for most people. But Chase still wanted to be polite to the three or four other people who had come as well.

But within seconds he heard. "Good God, please tell me that she's not the subject of this movie? Please tell me at least someone dies? Any explosions? Murder? Mystery?"

Chase heard Cameron 'shushing' Tom. He laughed silently.

"He's right, there better be an explosion, at least. Oh, maybe she gets blown up, by giant robots." House said with hope in his voice. "That, would be cool!"

"I somehow, don't think so." Chase sighed. But privately, he hoped so as well. This, was painful. It would be all right if someone stole the royal jewels, killed the guards, and made a get away. That would be all right. With a fast and dangerous car chase!

"Is there at least any weapons? What's so great about the necklace? Is it at least cursed?" That was from Turner again, and there was more shushing. "Will someone steal it?"

Turner obviously had the same hopes!

"Is this a love story?" Now, it was House groaning. "Is there at least a hot and heavy love scene where we get to see her bountiful breasts free and unfettered?"

Chase laughed into the back of his fingers, quietly. "Shush." He admonished, but was grinning.

"Any chance of full frontal nudity?" House whined. "At all? This sucks..."

"She's a Princess?" That was said by both Turner AND House. Both with dismay. Chase had already figured it out, but it had taken the other two men a moment to realize that the young girl indeed a cliche Princess.

This time both Chase and Cameron were shushing their companions. Though, he honestly felt the same way they did. This movie SUCKED!

The others sitting in the theatre wasn't sure who to glare at more. The back row, or near the front!

Chase admitted to himself, silently, that he wasn't really fond of movies with Princesses in it. Unless of course there were Death Stars involved and Light Sabers. Then it wasn't too bad, because then, there was at least fighting and death, and cool sword fighting.

He sighed in despair. This was too modern for even the hope of a good duel. He propped his chin up on his hand and groaned silently. Oh no, he had to kill Cameron now. She KNEW he hated this kind of thing. And there was no way in hell she didn't know that Turner and House would hate it too. This was sneaky torture. She was subtle in her technique, but it was there! Evil woman!

"Any chance at all that she'll have a lesbian romance with her best friend?" House sighed, eating his candy loudly and slurping his drink in an annoyingly as possible manner.

"I doubt it, but one can hope." Chase sighed sadly. "They would be hot together, wouldn't they? Think we can get away with sneaking into a different movie? One of them has to have the recommended daily allowance of violence and mayhem?" He whispered to House.

"I just got comfortable." House grumbled. He took one of his 'Dots', aimed, then let it fly.

Chase covered his face with his hands and then sighed, looking up. It seemed that House's effort was a waste, because it fell short of Turner's head. But his next try, bounced the candy right off the top of the other man's head.

Turner snapped around and looked behind him. In the dim light, Chase could see that he was glaring, and glaring directly at House. House pretended to be interested in the movie, as though he were concentrating solely on it and nothing else. Even though the princess in question seemed more worried about shoes than plot.

Which is how Turner managed to peg House with a Jujubee.

"Hey!" House made a noise, a rustling sound, and this time a Whopper was flying through the air, and hit Cameron. "Sorry... friendly fire!" House called out.

"House, you..." Cameron trailed off, and Chase flinched as a Crow bounced off his forehead. "Oops, 'friendly fire'." She stuck her tongue out and then pegged House.

Someone on the other side of the theatre that was there to really watch the movie stood up and started moving toward the door.

Cameron stood up quickly, and walked up the aisle as well, grabbing Chase's wheelchair and hauling him out of the theatre and straight toward the lobby. "What..." He turned this way and that in his chair as best he could. "What about..."

But she just shook her head. "Oh, they'll be here in a few minutes." She sighed, hitching her purse up higher and opening the door for them to escape outside. "They can take care of themselves when it comes to this kind of thing. Think of it as Karma."

Within ten minutes, Turner and House were both being hauled out of the theatre by ushers. "And never come back again! Next time we call the police!" The ushers shut the door behind them and then stood there like guards.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" Cameron asked with a look that was both annoyed and amused.

"No! They didn't let me grab my popcorn!" House complained, his candy in his jacket pockets. "I ought to sue!"

"See, we should have gone to the Museum." Turner, crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at House.

"Then, you two could have gotten in a brawl in front of something priceless, and broken it, so that we'd all have to spend time in jail!" Chase said as pleasantly as possible. "Yes, good plan, that!"

"He started it!" Turner pointed at House.

"You started it! By being born!" House made a childish face.

Turner flipped him off in return, and House was raising his cane like a bat. Chase reached out and grabbed House by the waist while Cameron grabbed Turner and lifted him off his feet and swung him away. The other man's legs beat the air for a second before she had him about five feet away from Chase and House.

"TIME OUT!" Cameron yelled. "Now, if you two don't behave, you're going to have a time out, and no ice cream!"

"No one said anything about ice cream." House pouted.

"I am now! But neither of you are getting any, if you don't behave!" Cameron had her hands on her hips. Chase was rather proud of her, that she was 'playing' into the 'game'. The trick of turning a potentially explosive situation into something that was silly and far more playful, was sometimes a difficult task. But she was doing pretty well at it this time. A couple of years ago, she would have given House a sullen glare and probably walked off, feeling like he was 'mocking' her. Now, she was mocking both House and Turner, and both men were reacting in kind.

"I want Rocky Road." Turner sneered, arms over his chest, glaring at House. "Otherwise, no deal."

"I'm sure they have Rocky Road." Cameron said, putting her hands on his shoulders, rubbing them before steering him toward the car.

House and Chase followed further behind. "She's been coached..." House muttered. "And... she's dosing him too?"

"Only on days Eileen isn't." Chase told him quietly.

"It's a conspiracy?" House asked, raising his brows in surprise.

"Of course. Lee, Eileen, Sarah, Allison... Me." Chase admitted, nodding finally. "He gets dosed with anti-depressants every morning. And then Allison gets pointers from others on how to best deal with him."

"He's completely doomed... I should pick out another wedding present." House had a positively evil look on his face. "That's if I don't kill him between now and then."

"You've started most the fights today." Chase pointed out as they finally got near the car. Turner was already in the passenger seat, door closed.

"Details details." House waved a dismissive hand. "Besides, did you really want to finish watching that movie?"

"Can't say that I did." He admitted. "You mean you started that, just to get kicked out of the theatre? We could have just... left!"

"Wouldn't have been nearly as much fun!" House protested.

"I'll just rent it later." Cameron threatened, putting the chair in trunk.

"Yes, but we don't have to watch it WITH you." House waited till Chase was buckled in the car before shutting the door and coming around the other side to get in.

"Oh, I don't know. Depends on how much you piss Cuddy off." She turned the car on and put it in drive. "Now, do you boys want to go home? Or... go and find someplace else to be kicked out of?"

"I think we've caused enough trouble for today." Chase said, giving House a look.

House tried to maintain an innocent air.

On the way back, the truce was considered 'broken' and both men spent the the whole time sniping back and forth, and then 'rating' the insult. Turner was given a 'handicap' score due to his 'haziness', which everyone finally decided to base on 'a probable cold trying to come on'.

It wasn't until they were nearly back that House asked. "Did you know about Uncle Lee's condition?" He asked quietly.

"Yes." Turner didn't turn around and look at House. Instead, he just looked out the window.

For the short time they were in the vehicle, neither spoke again. Turner also didn't get out of the car when they stopped. Cameron assisted getting him out and then up into the apartment, but left immediately afterward.

Lee was still asleep, when they returned, and he watched as House silently observed him. Noting his respiration, his coloring, simple things that let House know he was 'all right,' at least for now.

Quietly, they both retreated to the bedroom, House bringing his laptop with him. He was intent on researching, and finishing the candy he managed to bring back from the theatre, while Chase worked through his exercises, to get stronger for rehab. Chase quietly counted down the time till Wilson would arrive. It wouldn't be soon enough, to his way of thinking. But till then, he'd just try to keep distracted, and distract House.


	75. Chapter 75

Warning: Mention of sexual violence. Non-graphic, past tense, decades before fic.

The room was fairly quiet.

There was a light in the corner on one side of the couch, where Allison was sitting with a square board in her lap. It had started life as part of a desk she once had. But when she moved on to a bigger desk, before throwing the old one out, she had the top cut off and into smaller squares she could use for various other things. This particular one, she used as a mini-table for her lap when she wanted to sit back on the couch or her chair.

On the board, she had small clear containers that screwed together in stacks as well as a flexible needle and nylon thread. She was wearing her glasses, and carefully and with great deliberation arranging her work and the pattern she was going to use in front of her. Then she unscrewed one of the containers, and picked up a few of the tiny little 'seed' beads, sticking them on the needle carefully. Once in a while, a bead would get away from her and she'd grimace with an irritated sigh. But she did not try to find it again. Instead, she planned to sweep later and retrieve it that way.

Sitting about a foot from her, also using the light that was on, as well as a light that clipped directly to the book, sat Thomas Turner. His feet did not touch the floor, so he didn't even try to sit like most people. Instead, he crossed his legs, with his shoes off.

The television was on, but the sound was very low. Merely being used for background noise, and to make it seem more comfortable. The bubbling of the aquarium was louder than the television. The fish that Allison kept swam from one side of the tank to the other, never seeming to tire as they followed one another in a small school.

Under her breath, she counted to seven, threading the beads and then pushing them down the thread as she slowly built up the necklace she was making. She stifled a sneeze, quickly using her hands to brace the bead container.

"Are you catching cold?" Turner asked without looking up.

"I don't think so." She shook her head slightly. "I think its just... allergies. Things are starting to try to bloom. Nothing to worry about."

"I could prescribe you some allergy medication." He offered, still without looking at his book.

"Thank you." She said with a slight amused smile, sniffing hard and then continuing to string the beads before bringing the needle back to thread through a couple further back on the thread. "I've forgotten what number I was on..."

"Seven beads in that segment." He informed her, still looking at his book.

She looked down and silently counted, realizing he was right. He was watching her, and had been! It always startled her, that he seemed to watch her and others, without actually looking at them at all. On one hand, it could be seen as 'creepy'. On the other hand, it meant that he was paying attention for whatever reason. And that was... comforting?

Allison was rather enjoying the evening. Just relaxing with nothing to really be worried about, except... well... she still found herself worried. There was something niggling at her mind. A question that had been bothering her since that afternoon. No matter how she tried to not think about it, the question always returned. Taking a deep breath and steeling herself, she turned to look at him. "Tom?"

"Hm?" He flipped the page of his book and gave a small almost silent burp through his closed mouth.

"What did House mean? About Lee's condition?" She asked, glancing at him again before looking back down at her work. She thread some more beads onto the needle and worked it back through. She figured that if she worked at this pace, she should have the necklace for her niece done by the end of the evening, and she could send it off to her in the mail during lunch the next day. The little girl was getting more and more into wearing 'pretty' things. She wanted to be a 'Princess', according to Allison's brother who found it amusing. So, Allison was making her a necklace with pearly seed beads and faux-crystals. Cheap, easy, yet looked elegant. But perfect for a little girl that was just as likely to break it in the first few days, anyway.

"He's dying." Thomas told her bluntly, switching his attention from one page to the other, reading as though she never asked anything. Or rather, trying to appear such. She was getting better at reading him, and she noted the tension around his eyes. The slight narrowing. The way his lips became tighter. Subtle changes, but enough to let her know it affected him more than he let on.

Still, she gasped and set the board down and to the side, putting it on the coffee table. "What? Wh... How?" She was stricken. It was far far worse than she had imagined.

"Cancer." Thomas shrugged a shoulder, still focusing on his book, but his brows had drawn together as he scowled. "Has about a month or two left. I already talked to his doctors. Talked to the nursing home too. Knew they'd be sending the police out for him. I figured there was no point in that. He'd just escape again, and then it would be a big... circus. So, I called them as soon as he showed up and smoothed the ruffled feathers. Made sure all the paperwork was lined out. Of course? Does anyone notice, care, or even consider that someone had done so? Nope! Never occurred to anyone that maybe I had done anything..." He trailed off.

He shook his head and sighed. "Whatever." He grumbled to himself, turning another page in his book with more force than strictly necessary.

"But... but... I mean... are we sure? I mean, tests..." She wrung her hands in her lap. She wanted to cry. It wasn't fair. He had been so nice to her! Had talked to her and been... He reminded her of her grandfather back when she was little. He'd died when she was about ten, but Lee was a little like having him back again! And now, he was going to die?

"There's nothing more to be done, Allison." He finally closed his book, flipping off the little light. "There's no reason for you to get upset. Just... um..." He frowned at her. "No... crying." He told her. "Your nose will stop up, and then you won't be able to breathe."

"But... I... like him." She frowned, looking down at her hands. She had a feeling that Tom wasn't too sure what to do with other people's emotions. No, she KNEW he didn't know what to do with other people's emotions. The fact that he was trying to rationalize 'don't cry' with listing the physical problems involved with crying, would have been amusing any other time but now. "I don't want him to die! I like him. We... we should... do something! Even if it is just, be there!"

"A lot of people like him. I don't 'mind' him." Thomas frowned as well. But his was a kind of confused frown. "He... won't... be in much pain. I'm... sure." He grimaced, not sure how to do this kind of thing. "He doesn't want a lot of people involved. That's why he's kept it quiet!"

He looked toward the ceiling and closed his eyes. Who was the last person he ever tried to whole-heartedly comfort? Eve. Sure, there had been 'friends' in the meantime. But never close friends who had needed more than a word or two from him. It'll be all right, being the most spoken form of comfort, with him running away as soon as he could. But, this would 'not be all right'.

She was already tearing up, threading her fingers together, pressing her palms together. She looked at them while leaning over her knees. She was taking it hard. That, was obvious to Thomas, but he still didn't know how to stop or derail it. He looked like he was almost ready to start flailing his arms and calling for 'help'. Someone to fix HER!

"He's such a... nice... man." She told him. "I mean... What kind of doctor am I? That I didn't notice he was so ill?" She asked, eyes wide and horrified.

"It's not like it is your fault and that if you had noticed, you could have prevented this! He's been sick for a long long time!" Thomas shook his head, giving her a perplexed look.

"He is good at hiding things. All of us are. We're trained early on. For different reasons these days." Thomas leaned back on the couch, his legs still crossed as he looked forward toward the television.

"His generation? It was because men were expected to be strong. You just didn't talk about things, back then. You just, dealt with them. If you talked about it? That was considered 'whining'. A 'real' man just took care of business, and didn't look back." He shook his head slowly, lost in his thoughts.

"A man was strong for his family. He took care of them. He had a partner in his wife, and together it was them versus the world. Not much trust in strangers, and that included doctors who were pretty much in the dark back then. You went to a hospital to die. And most of the time, people wanted to die in their own beds. That's what his wife did. She died at home. He took care of her. And then he washed her body, and made the arrangements... had the body's viewing in his own living room, and well... that was just the way things were done then. He don't have a home anymore. But he still wants this to be on his terms, in any manner possible."

"My parents generation? Well, different reasons than Lee's. Things were changing. I think for some of them? It was fear. They wanted the strength that the older generation had, but they also understood far more than they had in the past. So there was fear there too. The stoic thing seemed like bravery. There was less acceptance in the whole 'live and die' thing. Fought harder to live, but feared the death too, people understood the mechanics more. But there was still the 'romance' of the older generations. Strong silent type was respected, revered, and an ideal to live up to. It was thought to be, that it was 'weak' to show fear. So they went back and forth between anger and coldness, and all of it was based in that 'fear', but anger is so much 'stronger' than to admit you're afraid of the future. Uncertainty. Things were changing. The world was changing. Changing fast." Thomas leaned his head back, just letting his thoughts roam and come at a 'free flow' rate. Telling it as he thought about it. It had been so long since he'd done such a thing. Just... talked... to talk. To hear his thoughts given form. "The last 'big war' was not forgotten, and everyone was afraid of a third one, a third one that this time could 'destroy' the world. A generation torn between rebellion and trying to hold on to the old ways. And in doing so, people went too far, one way or the other. Too loose, or too tight. And always with the underlying uncertainty and fear of what was to come..."

"Then you have my generation. Depends on who raised us, of course. But you get people like me... and Greg... raised by those that were wound too tight. Who feared to express any emotions other than the coldness and the anger. Because those two emotions were not 'weak'. Too loving, and well, we might not be able to take how 'terrible' the world would turn out. Or more importantly, we might become 'spoiled', and run riot like those 'terrible hippies'. Only, the world didn't turn out quite as bad as they predicted. And a lot of the hippy ideas weren't all off base! So they didn't really build us up. They just cut us off. We're not stoic. We're stone-walled. Afraid of our own emotions, and our feelings. Because god forbid we showed them to our parents. We were 'out of control' if we did. So we learned not to show them at all. Because then that way, they didn't see what we really thought. How much we hated them. How much we 'disrespected' them, as they would put it. We did not honor our mothers and fathers. They couldn't find out how much of an individual we still were. We were still free in our minds... But then, the wall we put up to protect us from them, became a prison, all its own."

"And the generation before us, could not understand why, WHY, we don't deal with things, at all. They blame television and psychiatrists and other things for our behavior instead of themselves. For the fact that instead of just dealing with our issues, instead we just hide and avoid and deny. And the generation before that, is at a loss as to why and how it all got lost in the translation. The world changed, and Lee did not. John misjudged. And now, we try to put the pieces back together, and the puzzle is scattered. Missing pieces. We'll never get it back together again." He trailed off and realized only belated that not only had he rambled, but that Allison was staring at him in disbelief. It made him uncomfortable so he looked away, and picked his book up once more, but did not re-open it. "On the other hand? I'm probably full of shit, wrong, and have no idea what the hell I'm talking about. Because in the end? I don't understand people at all."

After a moment, she asked in a small voice, looking first at her hands and then up at him. "Will you... miss him? Lee? I mean."

He shrugged a shoulder. "He was never mean to me. I don't know him as well as Greg. Mostly, because my mother and father distanced themselves whenever possible from the family. But, he was never mean to me. And I think all he really wants, is to somehow... fix... everything. He feels at fault for the way his brother's kids turned out. Like he could have stopped it. Survivor's guilt in a way. He's the last one of that generation alive in our family. The 'patriarch' in a manner of speaking. So in his mind all their sins, fall on his head. Because he was 'there' when it all happened. He thinks, if he only did this, then maybe that wouldn't have happened. Of course, he's full of shit." He sighed. "I'm sure he did what he could. But he just wants to make what he feels to be the two worst results, better, before he dies. And that would be... Greg and me." Thomas idly flipped the book around in his hands, looking at the back then turning it around to look at the front.

"With Greg? He wants to make sure that he has justice, and that John never hurts him again. To prove to Greg he's 'worth' more than John and Blythe indicated. Belated justice for the most part. But justice. For me?" He paused. "He wants me to be happy. My parents are already dead. They never physically hurt me? But they never formed a connection with me either. They were cold and distant people. I was an 'accident'. Not to be trite or cliche, but I was not held as a child. I do not form... bonds... with people in a normal manner. At least, that is what every therapist and psychologist that ever tried to take me on has said. I was forced into therapy when I was in High School. My last two jobs required me to see counseling."

"He wants me to be happy. That's why, he's conspired with you, and the others." He looked up and met her eyes. She had the grace to flush and look a bit guilty, but he just shrugged and gave her a rueful tiny smile. "I'm not an idiot. I know exactly what you all are doing. I would also stop it, if I felt the desire to do so."

"Why don't you stop us?" Allison asked in a small whisper, almost afraid of the answer, but still wanting to know. Part of her was afraid that this was where it all fell apart and ended. She couldn't imagine House just, letting it go. Not like that. He would do something in retaliation. Or, just, something.

"Who doesn't want to be happy?" He asked, tilting his head, surprising her. "If anyone knows I'm miserable, it would be me. I'm the one living it. I fully admit it. I have felt... blank... and empty... for so long. Going through the motions. Sometimes, I can go a week, and not even notice the passage of time. I know I did my work. I know I did my work well. But, if asked? I could not tell you what I had for any meal. What I did in my off hours. Or even, if I had any worthwhile conversations."

"The most fun I've had before now? Has been arguing with Greg, provoking him, and trying to parry his verbal sparring." Turner explained. "I picked on his boyfriend just because I knew it would piss him off enough to come to my office and fight with me. It worked too."

"And me?" She asked, rubbing her hands against the knees of her jeans. "I mean..."

"Lee knows, that I love Eve and always will. Just like he loves Lucy to this day. But, as he told me in my office, during one of his longer rants? Life did not end when Lucy died. And life should not have ended when Eve died. Even though..." He closed his eyes tightly. "I wanted it to. Eileen and Lee are both of the opinion that, you have something. Something I should give a chance to. Both are smart people. Both want me to be happy. Only a complete moron, ignores the advice of two intelligent people who just wants the best for you."

"You're going to the trouble, of listening to them. To try and figure out how to make me happy." He continued. "It's been a very long time, since anyone has gone to that effort. If you're willing to put that effort in, then I should at least... let you. And... see what happens. And make an effort too."

"That's why you're here, this is you making an effort?" She asked quietly, giving a very tiny smile.

He nodded and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he looked back toward the television. "You have a reputation at the hospital for trying to 'fix' people. Or trying to change them. But so far? You've not really tried to do that. Instead, you adjust YOUR behavior to account for mine. I didn't expect that. I don't count your... use of food as an incentive. That's? That's like... I dunno. It doesn't count, because I can say no. I can say no. Or I can 'give in' and say yes, and have an excuse."

She smiled slightly and looked down, pleased. "I'm not sure what to say, but thank you? I mean... no I don't think changing you would actually work. I have managed to learn some lessons over the years. I... don't... need to be the circle queen. You don't have to be in the 'social circle'. And it isn't necessary for you or anyone else to be brought into that circle."

"Greg already gave you the speech huh?" He chuckled darkly. "The surprising thing is? For a while? Heeeee... could be considered the Circle King. For a while. Me? I was the one that everyone at first tries to make into their 'mascot'. They think because of my size and stature that, I'm going to jump at the chance to tag along and 'belong'. Like I'm some kind of 'pet'. They eventually figure out that not only am I not 'tame', but that I prefer to be thought of as feral." He joked.

"He was... social?" She asked curious.

"For a while. Tried to be. It wasn't really 'him' though. But he was a big man on campus for a while, back in med school. But eventually? He said fuck it. And still, he was pretty popular with a lot of people BECAUSE he said 'fuck it' and did his own thing." He explained further, looking a bit amused by it.

"Cuddy said he was already a 'legend' when she was an undergrad." Allison raised her brows.

He shrugged slightly. "I'm younger than he is, of course. And I went to different schools. But I have no doubt that is a good description of him from that time period. He has always been an egomaniac and a jerk. It's just that he wasn't always 'miserable' as well."

"Were you?"

"An egomaniac and a jerk? Or miserable?" He asked, raising a brow.

She smiled slightly, but didn't clarify.

"I... was not always miserable. No." He admitted. "Prone to... depression? Yes. But not always miserable. I was actually happy when I was with Eve. I wasn't happy living with my parents, and wasn't happy after. But it isn't like I've 'never' been happy before. But yeahhhhh, I've always been an egomaniacal jerk." He nodded. "Will that be a problem for you? Because, I'm not going to change."

She laughed and shook her head. "There is more to you than just the ego and the snide behavior. You're also smart, and you DO have a sense of humor, and... while you have a twisted way of looking at humanity? It's at least honest in the way you express it. I've not heard you lie other than to omit information. You're blunt, and while that can, yeah, hurt... It's just easier to move on from it when you're not wondering if you're thinking something 'else' than what you're saying."

He tiled his head and smiled slightly. "I think, the problem is going to be... will this be enough for you? For now? Will it bother you that I'm not a sexual being, like a lot of others? I heard about you and Dr. Chase. The... arrangement... you two started out with?"

She took off her glasses and wiped a hand down her face. "I was afraid you would hear about that. Does that bother you? That... I was that shallow?"

He shook his head. "Not really. I just wonder if you're eventually going to get bored, and figure out I'm too... I don't know. Just that, I am... not... Is it going to bother you eventually?"

Allison quickly shook her head. "No, no it won't. I'm... look that was a bad idea all the way around. I was... lonely. But, I convinced myself that I didn't want a deeper connection at first, because, I was still... Despite what people may think that, that I had a fear of commitment? I was very committed to my husband. I... love him. Present tense. Very much. But, yes, he's gone. He passed away. Died of cancer. And then, later... Well, I'm sure you heard that I tried to-- well-- your cousin. Not that he wanted anything to do with it or me. But it still hurt. My ego wanted the protection. My heart wanted the protection as well. But I was so damn lonely. On so many levels. I wanted comfort. I went about it wrong. I thought that the physical act would, make up for the lack of emotional ties. But, there's more to a relationship than sex. So, it's all right. I want to get to know you. If you decided you never want sex? Then, I'll respect that. I will only take what you're willing to give, and give what you're willing to take."

He was quiet and then chuckled softly. "Well, I can say with certainty, that I'm not actually a virgin. I just..." He shook his head and grimaced.

"Don't like to talk about the subject?" She offered. "We can stop now, if you want." She didn't want to scare him away. She shook her head. "It's not that important."

He was quiet for a few minutes, and after a bit she leaned back on the couch figuring that the conversation was over. She was just about to reach for the remote, unsure of what to do or say at this point when he finally spoke again. "You wonder though, don't you? About why I don't like to talk about sex like a lot of the others?"

"I would be lying if I said I wasn't curious. But I also didn't want to ask and make you more uncomfortable. House already pushed earlier, and I don't think you were lying. The most obvious assumptions, he already named, and you dismissed them. I was telling myself that perhaps, you just... well... just don't like to hear or talk about such things. As you said, you feel it is not for public viewing. It's a private thing."

Thomas arched his back a little, letting it make a small 'pop' noise before leaning back once more and nodding quietly. "I told the truth. I was not molested. Nor did I see Oma naked. Granted that would be enough, but no. No. Almost wish that it were so."

He rubbed under his eyes and then shook his head. "Do you want to know though?" He asked her, blunt and to the point.

"Do you want to tell me?" She asked. "I mean... I think this is something you don't like to talk about. Do you... trust me?" She raised her brows as she asked.

"That's the question, isn't it?" He asked. "How far do I trust you? I'm trying to figure that out. This would be the biggest test, if I could trust you."

She bit her lip. "You're honest about making it a test. Most would just, spring it like a trap."

"I hate those. I like to know when I'm being tested." He sneered. "Those are designed for the person to fail. It is almost as though the person hopes the other will fail, then they have an excuse to get rid of them."

"You want me to have the opportunity to... pass?" She asked.

"Why provide a test at all, unless one wants to know if the other will pass or fail. If I wanted you to fail, as I said, I wouldn't let you know it was a test. I let you know, so you will pass it. Of course, since I don't believe in designing tests to just 'fail' outright, it is a moot point. I wish you to pass. I want Eileen and Lee to be right about you. If I wanted you to leave me alone? I'm almost positive I could make you do such without going to this extreme." He talked in a circle.

Allison bit her lower lip and looked down, questioning herself. Whatever he told her, no matter what it was, she would have to forever keep to herself. That was the essence of it. She had no idea what he would tell her. If it was something that bothered her, she couldn't give into the urge to try to 'right' it.

Finally, she nodded and said. "Only, if you want to tell me. I promise to never tell anyone else. But at the same time? You should only do what you feel comfortable with."

Tilting his head to the side till it nearly rested on his shoulder, he ran his fingertips along the cover of his book. "When I was small, as I told you, my parents didn't believe in showing affection to me. They were of the school of thought, that it would spoil me. Not to mention, it was too much effort anyway. But they also didn't really show affection to one another either. In fact, I'm to this day, surprised they stayed married from start to finish till death did them part. In the same accident, but still, they were married till the death."

Nodding, she remained silent, just letting him know she was listening. She also tried to make herself relax. Maybe this wouldn't be a horror story, as she feared.

"I was probably about, eight, I think." He squinted, as he thought back on the past. Trying to remember the sequence of events. "I was, as I'm sure any of them would tell you, already an asshole. I was a brat as a child, and I'm a 'brat' now. But I was a smart brat. Too smart sometimes, for my own good. I was a 'know-it-all'. Books were my best friends, and I didn't seek out human ones. I'd been hyper as a young child, but enough disapproval and being put into my room all day every day burned that out of me. Though, I probably acted out more in public than I did at home, just because... I could. The attention, even if it was negative, was still attention."

She once more nodded. She'd heard that kind of thing before. That children would seek any kind of attention, even if it was negative. House himself was often an attention seeker, even if it was negative attention. But still she said nothing, and just waited for him to continue.

"But despite the fact that, it is safe to say I was screwed when it came to appropriate human contact with others? I still had a good idea of what was NOT right." He grimaced. "I'm stalling."

"Take your time." Allison said. "As I said, you don't have to do this."

"No, but I think I want to." He said carefully. "I want to repeat once more that I was never touched by my parents. I was not molested. I was not raped."

She felt herself tense again. Despite his words, it was starting to feel like this was going to be a horror story after all.

"My parents, would... as I said, not show affection to one another. Not a hug. Not a kiss. Nothing." He tapped his fingers against the cover of his book and clicked his tongue. "But that didn't mean, that my father didn't want sex once in a while. My mother on the other hand, would say 'no'. One day, my father had been drinking, because of the holiday. Or at least, he used the holiday as an excuse to drink. He wanted to take her into the bedroom, and have some 'alone' time... she said no... and... He forced the issue."

He trailed off and looked away.

"You were... there?" Her eyes widened in horror and she felt sick. Very very sick. Her head began to hurt slightly from tension, her eyes felt like they were on fire.

He simply nodded.

She covered her mouth with her hands and looked away, fighting to keep from saying anything at all. Her hands acting as almost a physical barrier to keep from doing such.

"Afterward, my father just said 'go to your room'. My mother cleaned up, and didn't talk to me for two days. When she did finally talk to me? It was to tell me to get ready for school." He shook his head slowly.

Allison closed her eyes and kept her hands on her mouth. Of course, she had questions, but she could not bring herself to ask them.

"There were two other incidents, that cemented my desire never to openly discuss or even watch filmed sex. My paternal grandfather took advantage of his even older and senile neighbor. And... I walked in on the middle of that act. His excuse was that she was there, and she wouldn't remember anyway." He shuddered. "That was when I was about nine."

Allison squeezed her eyes closed even tighter. She tried to remind herself that these people were dead and buried and she couldn't help them anyway.

"The third thing? Well, it's just that when I was ten, and I went to stay with some relatives. And..." He wrinkled his nose and made a face. "My aunt was very... well... she was a slut. She cheated on my uncle, a lot, and while I was there, while he was at work? She had a foursome in the back bedroom with one of her boyfriends, another friend, and that friend's girlfriend. My cousin thought it was hilarious. But it was just gross to me. He kept saying it was cool because his mom was so 'open' about everything. He was a few years older than me. So, he was deeper into puberty anyway. But, it was just. I couldn't even look at her, and asked to go home. Since I couldn't go home? I asked if I could go stay with Oma. They let me, but because they knew why I was wanting to go home? Rather than risk me spreading 'stories' about them? They 'attacked' first."

Raising her eyebrows, she made herself open her eyes. "They made up stories, about you first? So no one would believe you?"

He nodded slowly. "Pretty much. By the time they were done, everyone in the family thought I was a little monster, more than I already was. The reunion was that year, and it was hell on earth. Noah had them all convinced that I'd caused nothing, but trouble."

"I got a hard time from everyone, including my parents who were just 'appalled' at my behavior. Appalled at MY behavior. I tried to tell the truth, one time, but my father accused me of lying. I got more withdrawn and a few months later, my teachers started to insist I saw a therapist at school. Well, I did. Of course, by then, I didn't trust anyone to tell the truth to. Because even if I told them, if asked, everyone in the family would deny it. They'd just tell them I was the 'bad guy' and the 'evil' one. There was no point." He finally shook his head again.

"So, screw it. All sex seemed to do, was cause problems. People acted inappropriately, made ME feel sick and disgusted, and I just wanted no part of it. By the time I was in high school, I had learned enough about medicine, because my dad was a doctor, to have seen enough horror pictures of STDs. To see my peers struggle with the dating game." He did chuckle on that score.

"I met Eve in class." He said quietly. "She was not well liked either. She was nice enough. But she had a very clear cut idea of what was appropriate. She did not wear anything low cut. Nothing that showed her legs above the knee. Usually, she wore trousers. She wasn't 'pretty', in the way the others tried to be. She wore a simple ponytail. She didn't wear make up. She had acne. She had glasses. She wasn't skinny. She was 'too tall'. She was blunt. And if someone was hurting someone else? She would gladly find a baseball bat and go defend them. She adored small kids, didn't like teenagers, even when we were teenagers. She would argue and argue and argue until either people agreed with her because they realized she was right, or because they were just tired of arguing."

"She was... perfect." He smiled slowly.

Allison blinked rapidly, feeling her eyes tear up. With every word, she could feel how much he loved his wife. She remembered the type from school. She'd never thought too much about them, because they were in a different social circle and their paths rarely crossed. But, it was obvious that Thomas has thought the world of Eve.

"She never tried for anything more than holding my hand, and kisses while we were dating. We waited till we were married. I know, that's almost unheard of, even when I was younger. But, it was what we both wanted."

She closed her eyes again and looked down, feeling inadequate. There was no way she could fill Eve's shoes, not according to the look in his eyes.

"I find it hard to understand how casually others can share their bodies with others. Don't get me wrong. I don't actually care if they do. I just know, I can't. I'm not able to. I don't really care if someone has slept with thirty other people in as many days. Well, I don't care beyond, I wouldn't want to be in charge of their health care. But, I just don't like hearing the details. I don't want to hear their sexcapades. And, why is that such an insult to them that I don't? In this day and age, where smoking where someone else can smell it is an issue? Or where you can't even lay your hand on someone's shoulder without someone screaming sexual harassment? Why is it considered such a crime that an adult male doesn't want to hear about someone else getting a blow job the night before? Or that they might not want to watch porn? Why is that a 'mental defect'?"

She shook her head, not sure what to say. When phrased that way, it was hard to argue. But at the same time? The reasons for his dislike of it? Was... Ugh. She wished SHE could take a baseball bat to those people. They may never have touched him physically, but they left their mark on him all the same. Two of the incidents were out and out crimes, while the third might be considered, well, she wasn't sure what. But it was bad!

The weight of his gaze on her finally made itself known to her and she looked up at him. He was watching her closely, studying her reaction. She knew it was a test, all the way around, but she didn't know what the right answer was at this moment in time. She knew the long term test was that she could not tell anyone what he'd gone through. Not with his parents, grandparents, nor with his extended family and the difficulties they'd caused him. But what to say? Right now?

Not only did she feel low, knowing what she knew now. But she felt the shadow of Eve strongly.

Biting her lip, she met his eyes, and elected to say nothing. Nothing at all.

Slowly, he nodded, his face relaxing. Then extended one of his hands to hers. "Now... tell me, if you wish... about your husband?"

It was then, as she thread her fingers through his, that she knew she'd passed.

Licking her lips, she slowly began to tell him her own story.

--

"Strangest thing." Wilson announced as he entered the apartment, a bag of groceries in his arms. "Got a call from Dr. Cameron, asking that I stop by her apartment and pick up... a gallon of ice cream to bring over here. Seems she 'forgot' to give you your reward. Not that you deserved it, according to her. Now, what is this, about rewards and ice cream? I was under the impression she went home with the sniffles."

"He did it!" House pointed immediately at Chase.

"What? No!" Chase gaped. "I didn't... well I called her. But House is the one that didn't behave."

Wilson put the ice cream on the counter and gave them each a look. "You talked her into playing hooky with you two today. Didn't you?"

"Wellllll, you refused to go." House snatched up the ice cream and started to read the ingredients, to double check them. "Someone had to enable us since you're slacking on the job."

"I heard some sack rustlin'." Lee said shuffling into the kitchen with a huge smile. "Ya brought some goodies?" He rubbed his hands together and started peeking into what was left within the grocery bag.

"You will never guess who I saw sitting on Dr. Cameron's couch." Wilson chuckled as he looked for bowls and spoons.

"Thomas Turner." House immediately replied, intent on snagging goodies.

"How..." Wilson turned to look at him in surprise.

House just made a face and grabbed one of the bowls, dipping some ice cream into it. "I see all. I know all... I know what you did in the shower last night, Jimmy. Naughty boy!"

Chase took pity on Wilson and explained. "Turner was with us when we got Allison to play hooky. She brought him, and we went to the movies. At least, until House and Turner got kicked out for throwing candy at each other and speaking loudly during the movie. Considering we sat in the back, and Turner and Allison sat in the front? That should tell you how loud was loud."

"Somehow, that doesn't surprised me." Wilson sighed at House, shaking his head. "Though it surprises me that House agreed to go in the first place."

"I am full of surprises!" House claimed. He grabbed a bottle of chocolate syrup and squeezed a large amount into the bowl.

"Do you want some ice cream with your syrup?" Wilson joked as he watched House. Then he went back to making up a bowl for Chase. Chase shook his head and took the bowl, grinning before wheeling himself out of the kitchen and back into the living room.

They had just about everything they could need. Snacks. Drinks. Movies.

After rummaging around the cabinets for a while, they'd found some chips that were gluten free. Lays, Cheetos, Fritos, Doritos. All were gluten free. Sarah had indeed well stocked the kitchen. The bags lay out on the coffee table with a stack of movies on one side.

"When did Cuddy say she expected me back to work to do her bidding?" House asked as he claimed the recliner once more. Chase was coming to think of the chair in question as House's throne from which he ruled his kingdom.

Wilson gave the recliner a loooong look, and Chase could tell he was connecting it to the one he'd seen before a while back. Finally, Wilson seemed to decide it wasn't worth bringing up or fighting about. He just shook his head ruefully, rolled his eyes, and sat down on the couch "Well, it kind of depends on what Foreman says. But he said you were looking pretty good. So, I don't know. Probably could go back in a week or two? Since you don't do heavy lifting or anything that really requires balance. Well, as long as you don't try to get on the motorcycle. You're banned from that for quite some time!"

"A week or two?" House was appalled. "It's not like I got shot!" He protested. "It was just a little hole in my head. It just looks worse than it really is because of the incision!"

"You have a severe concussion, whether you admit it or not. It's not healed yet. You're lucky they might let you back in that time frame! Technically, you should probably wait a MONTH or two! They're making allowances for you, as it is! Anyone else? No!" Wilson threw his hands up in exasperation. "Can't you be grateful for the fact that you are doing so well? You could have been killed!"

"I'd be climbing the walls by then, with nothing to do." House grumbled. "If we're trapped here for all that time? Chase will probably end up finishing the job of killing me!"

"You didn't..." Wilson broke off and looked away closing his eyes. Whatever it was that he was about to say, he apparently decided it wasn't worth bringing up. "Look, it's just a week or two. Then you can come in, to putter around the office and work the odd case. You won't even have Clinic duty. Not for another two weeks after that. I'm sure there's plenty of porn you could look at in the meantime to keep you busy."

"It's no fun if I don't have to dodge Clinic Duty." House moped. "And someone, I'm not naming names..." He coughed the name AuntSarah. "Got into my computer and deleted all my bookmarked porn sites and cleared out my cache and then deleted or closed all my porn accounts. I checked a few hours ago."

Wilson didn't look the least bit sympathetic. "I wonder if Hallmark has a 'sorry you lost your porn' card."

"You're heartless." House accused. "I bet if it was your porn stash, you would be in tears! I'm a stronger man than you are. I'm crying on the inside!" He wrinkled his nose and made a face.

"Just go to Sublime Directory." Chase told him. "It's free, at least."

All three men looked toward Chase, eyes narrowed and speculative.

"What? Like none of you've ever been there. Sublime Directory. It's at least a starting point for building back up your porn." Chase rolled his eyes and shook his head amused.

"Yeahhhhh, but I liked MY porn stash." House pouted.

"Oh, for crying out loud." Wilson shook his head, rolling his eyes and chuckling. "You're just being difficult."

"He's already bored, is the problem." Chase mentioned as he parked himself closer to the recliner and near the couch. Lee had sat himself next to Wilson, putting his feet up on the coffee table. Wilson picked up the bags of chips and repositioned them without comment. "So, am I." Chase admitted.

"Greaaaat." Wilson sighed. "I see many crank calls and spam in my inbox in my near future."

The night in general passed in turns loudly and quietly depending on the movie that played. The talk was random, and strove to be lighthearted. Gossip about family, friends, and work was passed around by all equally, even if the others had no idea who the subjects of the discussion were. It was the idea of it that mattered! Lee was a great storyteller, telling them about a lady that lived down the hall from him. She caused the residents no end of trouble, but looked so sweet and fragile that no one ever believed the tales of woe from those that had to handle her directly. But she'd managed to blacken the eye of one little CNA who had tried to lead her out of the kitchen when she took it into her head that the kitchen was 'hers' and 'hers' alone. And that everyone had to 'get the hell out of her kitchen' and 'don't come back'!

"She's a tiny thing, but she packs a whollop!" He told them with a laugh.

When Lee would cough, he'd sip his drink and clear his throat and then continue with whatever he was doing or saying and House would act like nothing was out of the ordinary. Wilson didn't even seem to notice anything wrong at all. But then? Neither had Chase originally.

It was the early morning hours before they called it a night. Lee going to his cot, and Wilson stretched out on the couch to sleep, while House and Chase retreated to the bedroom.

House showered first, removing the dressing and deeming it 'fit to be wet' at this point. The staples on his head reminded Chase vaguely of a Frankenstein monster. For a moment, Chase had felt a flare of rage. His hands tightening into fists as he imagined socking House's father in the face as hard as he could.

He remembered the conversation they'd had in the hallway of the hospital when House's dad and mother had come for a visit a couple of years prior. If he knew then what he knew now? He wasn't sure what he would have done, really. But damned if he would have let it go as easily as he had then, nor would he have found it funny. He probably would have created a mock emergency for House to attend to. He had a passing fancy of having injected Foreman with something to make him woozy. Nothing deadly or serious. But that might have been fun. Noooo, bad Chase. Naughty. No biscuit for you either!

"You know, it doesn't matter how much you glare, you're not going to light that wall on fire. What has you so pissed?" House asked, from where he was gathering Chase's clothes.

"Nothing. Just was remembering something I didn't like." Chase forced himself to shake it off. He scratched his nose and smiled at House.

House narrowed his eyes, but let it go. "Now, this is what we'll do. You shower, I already set up a chair in there for you. We'll wrap you in this blanket, and set you back in the wheelchair and then bring you in here to dry you off, dry the brace off, and change the padding on the brace. I'll also check for any rubbing..."

As he spoke, he was already getting behind the chair and pushing it toward the bathroom, not giving Chase time to protest. "Then, in the morning, you do your exercises... and then you get cleaned up again, and then... I think I'm going to remove your staples."

"I have staples?" Chase blinked in surprise, looking over his shoulder at House.

"Yeahhhhhhh, tell me you did not realize that?" House snorted in amusement. "Stitches and staples. You look like you zip up the back here! It's going to leave a really cool scar!"

"Huh." Chase frowned. True, he should have realized it, but to be honest, he'd not even though too hard about the subject. He had been more worried about everything else going on recently.

"Is it going to hurt?" He asked, wincing at how pathetic that sounded. After everything else he'd gone through? He was worried about the removal of staples? "I mean I always tell the patients it doesn't hurt. But as I'm finding out? I've been doing a LOT of lying over the years!"

"Wow, you really never have been operated on, have you?" House asked in surprise. "Or had your skin split badly enough to require being put back together?"

He shook his head. "Not really. I mean, there were a few that probably should have been stitched up. But usually I just butterfly'ed them and they healed all right."

House shook his head in amazement, angling him into the bathroom and pulling back the curtain of the shower. "As it so happens? It doesn't really hurt. If you close your eyes, you probably won't even really notice. Might sting a little? But you've had worse the last few years."

It was still wet in the tub from House's shower, but there was a metal chair with a cushion sitting ominously in the center. On the armrest, a hand-held sprayer waited for him clipped to the side.

Chase didn't have to ask where it had come from. House had it all along, for his own leg. He also knew that he couldn't protest its use and that he truly needed it at this point in time. He let House help him out of his chair and then over the side of the bathtub after removing his clothes.

House's eyes roamed freely over his body, not even trying to hide the fact that he was doing so. Chase smiled in return. "Not really fair, is it? You're already dressed."

House picked up a washcloth, handing it and the soap to him. "I'll make it up to you later." He winked.

House hesitated at the door and then returned, taking the cloth from him once more and lathering it up as he raised an eyebrow in permission.

"This, is probably, a very bad idea." Chase fought a grin, but otherwise just leaned against the seat with no embarrassment or true inhibitions.

House chuckled. "Whhhhat? I'm not doing annnnything. Just helping you get clean, reach those areas you can't reach yet." He settled on the side of the tub, adjusting the water temperature a bit.

Chase bit back a groan as he felt the cloth glide over his skin. The brace was a pain in the bum, but the feel of House's strong fingers smoothing over his body was a slice of heaven. He closed his eyes, leaning his head back as far as he was capable as House scrubbed small circles over his arms and shoulders and then his legs.

The hot water was comforting and relaxing. House stood up and took the opportunity to soak Chase's hair while his head was tipped back and then squeezed shampoo into his hands after handing the sprayer to Chase.

Chase closed his eyes as fingers scrubbed through his hair and over his scalp. He remembered how when he was very young, his mother did the same thing, and the comment that she once made that it was the best part of going to a beauty shop. His toes wanted to curl as he squirmed in his seat.

"If you were a cat, you'd be purring." House snorted in amusement from somewhere above him.

"Feels good." Chase laughed, eyes still closed. "You can stop some time after forever?"

"Well, unfortunately for you..." House took the sprayer back and washed the soap out of his hair. The slippery bubbles felt good going over his skin with the hot water. It had been too long since he'd been able to do something like this. He had a moment to ponder shower sex, but that would be impossible, of course.

"Awwww!" Chase chuckled while protesting. "Do I have to get out?" He opened his eyes and looked up at House.

House raised his brows, a strange look in his eyes, and Chase gave him a confused look. Not sure what it was that House was looking for. But then House was helping him up and wrapping him in the blanket before he could think too hard about what was going on.

House just shook his head again and returned them to the bedroom, bidding that he get up onto the bed where House had already laid out an extra sheet to soak up moisture. "Now, remember, you can't move. Just, lay there, and relax." He shook his head again and released the braces, gently removing them before covering Chase back up again with another blanket. The braces had to be dried, and then the inner pads were changed. The old ones would be deodorized after being cleaned, and then dried to be used next time.

House sat down on the side of the bed and started to run a towel over Chase's skin. drying it as he inspected for redness and irritation. Slow and methodical while Chase once more relaxed into the feel and touch. "Damn, that feels good." He sighed, trying not to move. He wanted desperately to turn into the touch. To feel those fingers move with more purpose.

"Mmmhmm." House made the noise softly in agreement and Chase softly moaned as he felt the cloth move lower and lower, followed by the faint and gentle touch of his hand trailing afterward.

He breathed steadily out of his nose, trying not to wiggle or arch into that touch. He bit his lip, feeling the fluttery anticipation deep and low in his stomach.

It was another minute before he realized sooooomething wasn't right. He cracked an eye open and then glanced down with a grimace. "This is where I say, it's not you? It's me? And remind you that it still feels good?" He closed his eyes again tightly and wanted to put a pillow over his head. After a moment, giving into the urge, he grabbed for the pillow nearest him that he could reach without turning and put it over his face. "Feel free to push down and smother me." He offered.

"The nerves aren't healed yet." House cleared his throat, and Chase could feel him stand up from the bed. "Stop being embarrassed. Be more embarrassed by the fact that you own a pair of boxers with large yellow duckies on them wearing snorkling gear."

Sure, he could have teased Chase mercilessly. Could have cracked a joke or three at his expense. But there were just some things that were better left unsaid or done, particularly if you were in a relationship.

"Thank god you didn't say 'it happens to every man at some point'." Chase lay still as House helped strap him back into the braces.

"It's the nerves." House repeated, removing all the wet materials from the bed and making sure it was dry enough to sleep on. "Besides, technically... shouldn't have been pressing my luck anyway." He admitted with a reluctant grumble. "I could just picture THAT ambulance call!"

"Your body is probably saving you from another heart attack." House climbed into bed with a scoff. "Pathetic that your dick is smarter than the rest of you."

"Perhaps, but... what a way to go." Chase said with a weak smile. He looked down and then back up at House. "You know, just because I can't... yet... doesn't mean I couldn't, as I said earlier? Give you a helping hand."

House rubbed under his nose as he considered it. "Normally, I'd take you up on that. But..." He trailed off and kind of shrugged with a grimace, he was sitting up on one elbow, looking down at Chase.

"You're actually worried it wouldn't be 'fair'?" Chase smiled slowly. Because that was actually kind of 'sweet'. Many men wouldn't give a shit about it being 'fair' or not.

House didn't answer and instead just glared. It was enough of an answer for Chase though!

Chuckling low in his throat, he reached up and wrapped a hand around the back of House's head, pulling him down for a slow deep kiss.

House's hand settled on Chase's hip, just below the back brace on his left side while Chase gently set his hand on his arm. Eyes closed, he tried to work out the logistics, because while he wouldn't be participating beyond the use of hands, it was still a matter of each of them having mobility restrictions. He couldn't bend, for one thing. That could be a problem!

He smiled against House's lips as he snaked his right arm around his back and pulled House closer and nearly on top of him while stroking his left hand down his chest before heading further south.

Chase knew that his left hand wasn't as well equipped to deal with this as his right, but his options were limited, and he really wanted to do this for House.

He was forced to shift a bit more toward his right, but so far his leg was bearing up well.

Chase could feel that he was so... close. So close to getting hard. He could feel the fluttery feeling in his lower stomach. His breath hitching as he kissed House passionately and danced his fingers over House's back, neck, and then back down once more to cup his arse. He groaned into the kiss wanting to press closer and closer... but 'Willy' wasn't waking up as he ought to. It was frustrating!

Chase had experienced this before, months ago, with Allison. And after the first couple of times he'd stopped trying because he hoped if he stopped worrying about it, it would fix itself. He knew he had nerve damage, and that some of it might heal... and some of it might not. He was really trying not to think about what would happen if it DIDN'T heal!

He forced himself to derail all thoughts in that direction and concentrate on the silky smooth skin at his fingertips.

House arched into his hand as Chase wrapped sure fingers around his length. House used one of his hands to push his boxers down further around his thighs before returning to stroking Chase's stomach below the brace and legs. His breathing was becoming harder and harder, as he left off Chase's lips and attacked his throat viciously, nipping and sucking the skin into his mouth.

Chase's eyes fluttered closed again as he gasped. He loved having his neck attended to. It felt utterly wonderful. But still he could feel no response below the belt, other than that feeling of 'anticipation'. It felt good, but there was no 'resolution'.

Don't think about it. Just feel and enjoy and squeeze him harder...

House arched his back, leaning away for a second as he bit down on his lip, stifling the cry that tried to force its way out. He shuddered against Chase and fell back forward, leaning into him and burying his head in Chase's shoulder.

The sharp 'tang' in the air made Chase smile against House's hair and he felt ridiculously accomplished for a few minutes.

Later, House roused himself just long enough to pull a corner of the sheet out and wipe up before just letting himself fall back against the bed. Too tired to move. A last kiss, and the arm was once more around Chase's waist as House faded off into sleep without another sound or word.

Chase closed his eyes and tried not to think about the fact that there hadn't been a twitch from himself, the entire time. Of course, in trying not to think about it? It was all he could think about!

He fell into a troubled sleep, frowning.

Worrying about it, would just make it worse. But it was hard not to worry!

His last thought before he drifted off was, 'please don't let this be permanent'.

-- 


	76. Chapter 76

Warning: this part deals with death of past innocents, including children.

"You're not allowed to be here. I do not have to talk to you." John House leaned back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest. "In fact, I want to call my lawyer."

"I'm not allowed to talk to you about your case." Tritter gave him a small smile. "I'm not going to be talking to you about your case. In fact, what I wish to talk to you about, has absolutely no bearing on this case at all. It would not be allowed to be admissible in court."

"Get out of here." John growled.

Tritter chuckled darkly. "It's easy to see where Greg House gets his attitude. Of course, even at his worst? He didn't quite have the same air of menace."

John stood up and walked toward the door, rapping on it.

"Oh, now, come on... I'm not investigating or asking you any questions. But hey, if you want your lawyer here? Sure! I have no problem with that." Tritter made himself comfortable. "Your lawyer might be interested in hearing what I have to say."

John narrowed his eyes at him. "And just what is that, Detective Tritter? Of course, I'm sure the lawyer would be interested in your little visit here as well. I'm pretty sure I could make a case for harassment."

"Doubtful, but you're welcome to try." Tritter smiled at the other man. "You know, I've been trying to be very careful... in this investigation. Making sure to keep my motives 'pure'. Or as pure as I can get them. There's been a few times that I've wondered if I was being too hard on you. Or that, perhaps I was 'blowing it all out of proportion'. Reading too much into it. Maybe even listening to bias witnesses."

John raised his brows, but did not speak. But Tritter saw the spark on interest in his eyes. Wondering if perhaps he had maybe convinced Tritter somehow? He probably believed that all his records were purged or impossible to find because they were in other states. Or in some cases, different parts of the world. Ah, the joys of the computer age! Not to mention, knowing where to grease the wheels.

"Imagine my relief when I realized that you truly are the bastard I believed you to be." Tritter enjoyed watching the man's eyes grow dark with hatred, glaring at him. He had no illusions that if John House could have, he would have attacked Tritter right then and there. But they were separated by a barrier.

"What do you want?" John growled, glaring in Tritter's direction with pure hate.

"For you to know exactly who it is, that is sending you to prison. You see, it isn't your wife. It isn't your son. It isn't even your sister or your uncle. It's me. Mike Tritter. So when you're in your little jail cell, plotting revenge or having your little fantasies about making someone 'pay' for all of this. I want to make sure you're picturing the right person." He smiled. "Me."

John's lips twitched as though he wished to say something, but he didn't give into the temptation.

That was all right. Tritter didn't care if he did or not. What was important to him, was that John House focused any rage or thoughts of revenge on Tritter and only Tritter. There was always the slight chance that things wouldn't play out the way he wished. And if that happened, he worried about retribution. This man was dangerous as far as Tritter was concerned. The others, couldn't protect themselves nearly as well as Tritter could. They were not 'trained' for it. Tritter on the other hand, was. Let John focus his hate directly on Tritter rather than sit in his cell and think about his family.

"I found some interesting things during the course of my investigation. All information has already been turned over to the district attorney's office. I'm done. You'll probably be hearing about it soon enough. As I said, it isn't admissible in court, but it is always good to have a complete background on your perp. Of course, you already know all the things you have done. It is not like I have to tell you what a sick unrepentant bastard you are."

John turned back to the door, ready to rap on it again.

"You never told your wife and son why you were sent home from Vietnam. The reason you got the shit post." Tritter called out as John was lifting his hand again to the door. He watched with satisfaction as John slowly lowered his hand.

"I was curious, you see. Not many people would have volunteered for round after round there. But you? You seemed to love it. You didn't want to ever come home. I'll give you props, as they say these days. You came out of it relatively unscathed. Even managed to get back in their good graces just enough to rise in the ranks again. To get new posts. New posts you used to keep one step ahead of investigations and questioning. You just couldn't help yourself, could you? You sick sick fuck."

John turned back to Tritter, slowly, still not speaking at all with a dangerous look in his eyes.

"You killed, two Vietnamese children. You put a bullet in one of their heads, at point blank range. Execution style. The other? Beaten before you killed him. You were tried by general court-martial, you pled guilty to unpremeditated murder... and somehow? Somehow? You were sentenced to NO punishment. Now, I know a lot of atrocities back then got swept under the rug. It was an unpopular war. They had enough on their plate without revealing that their 'brave young men' were doing horrible horrible things to the people that lived there. But, I'm still impressed. You? Escaped without any punishment." Tritter narrowed his eyes. "And then? You came home to smack your wife and son around. What I want to know is... what kind of blackmail material did you have on the others that kept you from going to prison? What information, did you hold, so that you could actually stay in the marines? It had to be good! It had to be big!"

"You know nothing about what I went through, you son of a bitch!" John growled.

"I have no doubt in my mind that you are mentally ill. I think you are crazy as a bed bug. But it still doesn't excuse you from the responsibility of your actions. At this point, I don't care if you're in prison or the mental hospital for the criminally insane. But I want you off the streets, and I want you to pay for what you did. As I said? They're not going to be able to add your old crimes into the new ones. But justice is catching up to you. And it's coming fast. And you have a lot to make up for. A lot."

"You bastard. What right do you have to judge me? I was in the United States Marine Corp long before you were even a twinkle in the milk man's eye." John glared. "I served my country in one of the most gawdawful wars ever started. By what right do you have to stand there and tell ME that you know what I should and should not have done, and what penance I should have had for it. Have you ever been shot at? Have you ever had your plane start to go down into a jungle, not sure if you're going to get back or be dead? Have you ever had a young kid show up acting like a friend, only to turn out to be the enemy with a homemade bomb? Don't you dare stand there and judge me."

"I bet you got a lot of milage out of that. Your war stories. Your 'I'm a proud American' spiel. Your... I'm a hero, no matter how unsung stance. Real heroes? Wouldn't have to tell people about it. Real heroes exist every day, all around us. And more importantly? Real heroes don't use it as a way to duck their bad behavior. They don't use their 'heroism' as an excuse for their crimes against those they were meant to save." Tritter shook his head. "You don't know anything about me? But I know just about everything you can imagine about you. I know what kind of grades you got in high school. I know the first time you lost your virginity. I know what was on your tax return last year. And more importantly? I know what you did to your little boy, and the girl you married and said you loved. And a real hero? Would never have done any of that."

"That, is how I dare to stand in judgment of you. Because unlike most people? I know the truth." Tritter stood up. "And as I said? You need to remember who it will be that brought you to the justice you should have had over thirty years ago. Over forty years ago." He paused. "Over fifty years ago... I also know about the girl you dated before Blythe. Got her knocked up, and then you knocked her down... and Greg's would-have-been big brother never got born."

"I know everything." Tritter said in a low creepy voice. The one he used in interrogation. "Everything."

He raised his chin and smiled a little. "You might want to reconsider that plea bargain... but that's just an opinion. Not advice. I'm not telling you what to do. After all, I would be better served by it going as far as I can take it. So, I'm not tampering here... If anything? I'm giving you a chance. A chance you never gave those children. How many was it, John? In how many countries? Dream of me, tonight."

With that, he turned neatly and walked out, pulling out a piece of gum as he went. He nodded to the guard, and hurried down the corridor.

He could vaguely hear John House once more pounding on the door to be let out and returned to his cell.

Tritter hated when men stood behind their military record. Acting as though having 'served their country' somehow exonerated any crime they committed during or thereafter. As though it gave them some kind of immunity.

Bullshit.

The only ones who knew that Tritter had been in the military were those that had access to his service record, his ex-wife, and a couple of friends he'd had from that time. Otherwise, he never brought it up. Not even to his son who tended to hero worship him!

He had nothing to be ashamed of. He'd served with pride and honor. He'd been a Navy SEAL, and had been well trained. He was still physically fit, and carried himself with the same dignity he had in his youth. He'd served their country well, and he still did.

Only now? He served on a more personal level. Instead of being off in another country, he was home. On the front lines. Working to take care of the people themselves. Directly serving and protecting, with pride.

If he made mistakes? It was because he was human.

And he had made mistakes. A lot of them over the years.

Which is why, he had dug so hard into John House's past. He'd begun to second guess himself, wondering if it wasn't the anger from the past clouding his judgment now.

Everybody lies, right? Sometimes, even to themselves. And he'd lied to himself over the years too many times now for it not to be an issue.

It was time to question deeper.

True, the evidence of the initial assault was all right there in the open. There was even some video footage that they'd manage to pull thanks to added security after House had been shot a couple of years before. But had he been too heavy handed? Not understanding enough? Had there been underlying reasons? Was he missing something?

The more of the past he dug up, the more sure he was that this was the 'right' thing to do.

Never before had he come across a case like this. He knew his colleagues would be foaming at the mouth for such a case, figuring it would make their career. And he wasn't adverse to the thought of what it could do for him. But that wasn't why he was doing this. He felt this had to be done. It was 'right'. It FELT right!

There were plenty of people that would claim that the past was in the past and should stay there. That once someone reached a certain age, they should just let it go. That it wouldn't change anything. The victims would still be hurt, still be dead, still have damage. Perhaps that was all true. But by that logic, then perhaps Manson should be allowed out. After all? He's an old man now. His crimes in the past.

It wasn't the first time a senior citizen had finally been caught for crimes they'd committed in the past. Murder had no statute of limitations. And he was positive this man had murdered others not yet uncovered.

It didn't matter the man's age. Depending on the gun in the man's hand? It only took as little as three pounds of pressure to pull a trigger. Even top end, the harder to pull triggers still only took about ten.

Then there were other ways of killing someone. Not all required brute strength.

John House was a potential danger to others. No, wait! Not even a potential danger! He was a definite danger to others. A walking time bomb. One that had started to go off once again. It was just good timing that they'd stopped him before he could finish detonating.

He rubbed his jaw and walked out to his car after signing out at the main desk. This case was getting to him in so many ways. He'd talked to the DA on multiple occasions, and they were convinced that John House was a danger as well. The problem was, he couldn't be tried on past crimes that had already been dealt with in the past. Well, there was a way, but proving that it was necessary would be too hard. It was like trying to catch smoke. And the laws were too slippery on that aspect. It was better to have something solid they could nail him on, and nail him hard! Something, that would stick.

Mike hadn't been strictly honest with John. He had said that he was done investigating. That wasn't true at all. But it was taking a coordinated effort with other agencies and departments, and they were trying to move as fast as they could. But it would still take some time!

He had to dig up proof and evidence of other past crimes that had NOT been solved, dealt with, and written off. He knew without doubt they existed. He'd already found multiple links. But he was desperate to find the dirt. That is what he needed! Something tangible.

His contacts at the FBI and within the Military had been very interested in what he'd already brought forth, and were working with him. Their own people were starting to grab the information and run with it. Time. Time. Time. It was all a matter of time. Time that sometimes, Tritter felt was slipping away too fast.

If everything worked out, they could try John, not on just aggravated assault and attempted murder? But actual murder charges! Multiple murder charges.

He started his car and drove in silence. He knew where he needed to go. To the one person that might be able to point him in more directions. But somehow he wasn't psyched up enough just yet to go there. He needed to be mentally prepared to knock on 'that' door.

Mike drove around in circles until at one point he found himself driving into the cemetery. He told himself he wasn't going to stop. That he'd just drive around the circuit and back out once again. But as though on autopilot he ended up putting his car in park and climbing out.

He lost count of the number of times this had happened over the years. It usually happened when he was questioning himself, or feeling less than confident. Then, he'd find himself walking through the stones heading to the one place he didn't really want to be.

The stone was slightly tilted and had been for years. Mike always felt there was a certain irony in the fact that the stone was as crooked as the old man had been. As in life, so was it in death. No flowers had ever donned the site, and never would. He'd rather piss on the grave than decorate it.

He stood with his hands in his pockets, head tilted. "Hey, dad..." It always felt so silly to talk aloud to a stone in the middle of a graveyard. But, no one was around, so it wasn't like anyone could hold it against him. It was also rather amusing that the only civil conversations he'd ever had with the old fucker was after he was dead and buried.

"Found someone worse than you, can you believe it?" He snorted in disgust, glaring down at the words carved in marble. The only reason he had a marker was because his aunt had paid for it. As far as that old bitch was concerned, Mike's father had been a 'saint'. Funny how after someone died, everyone pretended that none of the bad stuff had ever happened, and only remembered the good. Mike still challenged people to name the good to him, and then would laugh sardonically when they would just stare at him, unsure what to say. The good old days were a myth.

"I know. Hard to believe. I've found a lot that were nearly as bad as you, but this is the first time I've ever been faced with a case where the perp is actually worse than you ever were. After all, you were just a drunken child abuser. This guy? He's actually killed them. I want so much to see him hung by his balls. So, it looks like you've lost your crown as King of the Shitheads. But don't worry, dad. You'll always be runner up in my mind." He sneered.

"He's been all over the world. Always moving just before anyone would realize that he'd done it again." Mike sneered again. "He actually planned when he'd do it, so that the timing was perfect. Like, he was 'saving it up' for a special occasion. Stay a year or two in one spot, and then he'd put his traveling shoes on. Pack up his family, send them ahead, stayed long enough to supposedly 'tie up loose ends', and then... Son of a bitch. He wouldn't have gotten away with it, quite as easily, these days. Computers everywhere. Easier to match up information. But back then? It was easy for him to stay ahead of the paperwork and rumors."

"He uses his service record as an excuse for his behavior. 'I can't be as bad as you say, I'm a hero!' Or, 'you don't understand, you've never been in battle! You don't know what it was like!' Sound familiar dad? 'I was in Korea...' Well, he was in Vietnam. But the party line is always the same with people like you. One thing about it? You taught me what not to do. I still screwed up my marriage, my family, and my life. But at least I did it in a different way. And hopefully? My son won't turn out nearly as screwed up as I did. I hope you're burning in hell, you asshole."

He tiredly rubbed his face and then his eyes, sighing as he turned and walked back to his vehicle. Sometimes, when he was here, he felt better after ranting. But this time, he just felt more tired and heavier. This case was truly getting under his skin. It was a big one. Biggest of his career, and he was nervous for many reasons.

His mind kept bouncing back and forth between his father and John House. Once in a while it would track down to his own son, and the little boy's smiling face. Unbidden he imagined something happening to the boy and felt his heart twist in his rib cage. Then he would imagine Greg House, as a bright blue eyed little boy, looking up at a father that didn't want him. And again, his heart would twist this time in rage. Images would superimpose over each other. He couldn't go back in time, and save that little boy. No more than he could go back in time and save 'himself'. But he still felt this need to do something about it.

Justice. There had to be justice in the end, or everything was for nothing.

Donald Tritter had been a bully and a drunk, and he had been a nightmare as a father. Mike had spent a lot of time out of school, supposedly 'sick' because his father didn't want to risk him going to school with any visible marks. He also liked to tell Mike he was stupid, and a waste of space. If he could get the little boy to cry, the old man felt better about himself. Mike now knew it spoke more of the bastard than of him.

It raised his hackles whenever he had to deal with child abusers in his line of work, but it was hard to draw the line sometimes with his own actions. It was as he'd told Dr. Chase. Sometimes those abused, would become abusers. He'd never thought it would happen to him, but he had been wrong.

At one point, he'd had the idea that to defeat a bully you had to bully them back. After the Greg House fiasco, and the therapy, and the investigation? He'd had to consider what happened when you went too far in your bullying the bully back. What happens when you become a worse bully than the one you were trying to teach a lesson to? What happens, when you find yourself turning into your father?

That more than anything had ripped Tritter down to the core. Nothing had been the same since that thought made itself known to him. Now it was with him all the time.

He still came on strong, but he did try to stop once in a while and ask himself if he was right or wrong. And when he was wrong, and realized it? It was like ice water rolling down his back.

It is why he'd taken a moment on the John House case once it started rolling, to figure out if he was going too far. Now, he knew he had not gone quite far enough yet. He had a long road ahead of him, and a lot to research.

There was even a small tiny part of himself, in the very back of his brain that wondered if he wasn't doing this to make up for how badly he'd fucked up the Greg House case to begin with. Was this some kind of weird ass backhanded apology?

Was this one abused adult 'kid' reaching out to another abused adult 'kid' and trying to say, it's all right?

Oh, god, he hoped not. That just seemed so damn cliche and sappy. Like one of them girly Lifetime movies or something. He refused to think about the fact that things became cliche because they were based in reality.

He shook his head and turned the corner. He still wasn't totally ready for this, but he had a feeling he never would be ready. Better now than never. Better to get it over with. Like ripping a bandaid off... or trying to push a damn thermometer out of your ass. You just had to give it a push, and let it out.

Mike tried not to think anymore on the rest of his journey, though it was still nipping at the corners of his mind no matter what he did.

As he pulled up and put the car in park, he looked up at the apartment he was about to knock on. The last time he'd been there, he'd had a warrant. He'd been self-righteous. He'd been angry as hell, and his pride had been hurt. It was easier to put all his frustration on House, rather than it had been to face the destruction of his life as it fell down around him.

There was no warrant today, and he doubted he'd get beyond the threshold of the door. He'd be lucky if House didn't slam the door in his face. But, he had to try. This was important, and he couldn't take the chance of missing any opportunity he could get.

Wilson's car was parked in front of his, and he frowned. This could get ugly. For a moment, he considered just leaving, and coming back later. But that was just avoidance. There was no point in that. He was here for a reason, and a damn good one.

With a heavy sigh, he opened the car door, and took off his seat belt. Grabbing the heavy thick file, he climbed out and walked to the door of 221B. The 'Police Knock' as people knew it, would just set things on edge, and he knew it.

So instead, he just rapped in what he hoped was a normal way.

He heard noises and faint arguing from inside. It was only when the door opened and a breathless Wilson called out. "Lee?" That he realized he had walked into what could be a personal crisis. "Tritter!" Wilson looked faintly horrified.

"I... come in peace?" Tritter said, confused and almost taken aback. He had not expected to walk into already in progress drama.

"Get out of here! I have enough problems right now." Greg House growled from somewhere in the background. "Go harass someone else."

"What's the problem?" Tritter asked, trying to look around Wilson who was acting as a physical barrier.

"Just..." Wilson held up a hand and shut the door. Then opened it again, and stuck his head out. "Give us a few minutes."

The door shut again, and Tritter was left more confused than ever.

Chase had awoken late that morning, but he hadn't been the only one!

They'd all slept in, as no one's alarm had gone off. House checked his, and found that it had been unplugged. For Wilson, someone had managed to turn the alarm off on his cell phone.

That someone turned out to be Lee House. Because as they all woke up and started to move around, they became aware that he was no longer in the apartment.

His things were also missing. The bag he'd brought with him, his meds, all of it gone. The cot he'd been sleeping on had been folded back up, latched, and shoved against the wall.

Also among the missing was House's Diskman and one of his gameboys.

The only thing left behind was a small note that simply said. "So long, and thanks for all the fish! See you on the flip-side, Clyde. Love, Uncle Lee"

House had sat down heavily on the couch, a dark look on his face. "He's gone home. I should have known he'd do it today. He told me in a day or two, knowing I was going to expect it to be two. He knew I would try to talk him out of it, so he left after the one day. That... bastard." He threw the note down on the table.

Wilson frowned and sat down beside House. "You really wanted him to stay?" He looked a bit confused and stunned. "I mean, you don't usually..." He gestured vaguely with one hand, encompassing the room in general.

"No, not usually. But, Uncle Lee was the only one in my family worth a damn. Okay, so Aunt Sarah too. But I don't want her underfoot." House bitched. He stood up and started to pace, limping back and forth behind the couch. "Now, he's on his way back to the nursing home, rest home, fucking Assisted Living Center... whatever you fucking call it these days. Where he's going to die like a cat crawling under the porch by himself."

Chase rubbed his face and closed his eyes. He thought House had been a bit too quiet about the subject. He should have known that House wouldn't let it go.

"House, it's... it's not like you can't go visit." Wilson said weakly, looking helpless and sighing. "You're talking like he's dropped off the face of the earth or..."

"Or dead?" House spat, glaring at Wilson as he continued to pace. The other man crossed his arms over his chest and watched House with a vaguely annoyed look.

Chase noticed that House was leaning heavily on his cane. His leg was hurting, worse than when he'd first woken. Guilt? Or just sadness in general? Pain was still pain, even if it was worsened by emotions that you tried to suppress. Despite the fact that House was acting pissed off, Chase could see in his eyes that he was really very... depressed. Sad.

"House, come on..." Wilson sighed.

"He's dying, Dr. Wilson." Chase interjected before Wilson could try to talk reason to House, and thereby make it worse. "Lee, is dying. Taking into account the cough, the doses of his medicine, the way that he's... finishing things up. Finding closure? He's not got too much longer. Especially when you take into account his age, and the fact that for the most part? He's not getting treatment. Cancer."

Wilson had paled with each word, and then turned to look at House who was still pacing. "You asked him to stay right? You weren't going to wait for tomorrow, were you?"

"Of course I asked him to stay!" House yelled. "I practically begged him, but he said no. That he was going 'home'. I was going to try 'again' tomorrow. Maybe throw in some emotional blackmail. Something! But he's too sneaky. He knew what I would do before I knew it, and has already taken off."

Wilson grabbed his cellphone. "Would he be taking a plane? Train? Bus? Did he have a car? Someone here with him?" He didn't seem to know what number to dial first, but he had that determined look on his face. His 'save the world' face.

"He shouldn't be alone." Wilson stated. "I could put him under my treatment, and make sure that... that..."

"I know." House said quietly. "And I'm pretty sure it wouldn't be a plane. And he had no accomplices that I know of. He used to say that the only crime done well, is that which you do by yourself, and that you keep to yourself. Less chance of someone ratting you out later."

"Well, I see who tried to train you. Problem is, you tell me everything you do." Wilson gave a small sad laugh as he found the phone book and started paging through.

"I've always been of the theory, joy should be shared." House gave him a childish look and stuck his tongue out. "It's more fun to tell someone." After a few seconds, his face faded back into the serious expression as he walked back and forth, trying to ease the cramping.

Chase rubbed his face again and looked over at House. "I thought you were going to let him do this his way?" He asked, finally. He wished he knew the right way to do this kind of thing. What was the right answer? Sometimes, there were no right answers. But he didn't like to see House in pain. Mental, or physical.

"I changed my mind. It's my perogative." House glared over at him, never pausing in his staggering stride.

"He won't come back." Chase pointed out. "He'll be resentful. He'll just do what he wants anyway. He's of sound mind. You said so yourself. He's smart, too."

"He's an idiot." House disagreed, but Chase knew it was because he was upset. House didn't really believe his uncle was an idiot. He just wanted to somehow help him, be with him, do something for him. The problem being, nothing would fix this situation no matter how brilliant House was.

"People can be idiots, and still be of sound mind." Chase sighed. "I don't want to argue with you? But, he knows what is going to happen. YOU know what is going to happen. The time is going to come, and then... one of us? Probably you! Is going to have to give him an increase in morphine, a lethal increase... to end it."

House looked away. Wilson was still on the phone, talking to the bus company.

"House, you know I'm right." Chase insisted. "Bringing him back here, is a bad idea. No matter how much you love him, you have to respect his wishes."

"Why start now? I never respect my other patients wishes." House said waspishly, standing still finally and glaring at the door. Chase wondered if House's leg was intact, if he'd be out that door right now looking for Lee himself. Probably so.

"Because he's not your patient. He's your uncle. And because you love him, and he cares about you, and... this isn't just about you. It's about him too." Chase sighed. "Even if his decisions suck."

"I'm worried he'll do something... stupid." House finally admitted, grudgingly.

"Like what?" Chase asked, tilting his head, and looking up.

"Like... not wait for the end." House grimaced. "That he'll truly crawl off into a corner somewhere, and not be found for a while. He'll be alone."

"You think he'd kill himself?" Wilson gaped. It wasn't unheard of though. He'd had quite a few terminal patients over the years end it before they were too far off and in bad pain. Those that wanted to have control over their end, or who just didn't see the point in prolonging it.

"Maybe we should call the police." Wilson stood up again and started pacing as well. "I called the nearest bus company? And no one remembers a man of his description."

"That means absolutely nothing." House told Wilson with a harsh laugh. "Hell, he could have bought a ticket online while we were sleeping, or already HAD a ticket before ever coming here. He could have put on different clothes, worn a hat, sunglasses... who knows. Not that any of those idiots would notice anyway. Not unless he was foreign looking. Then they would have searched up his butt. But since he's pretty 'average'? He blends."

Chase didn't believe that was strictly true. House was just upset and exaggerating a bit. But it was just too easy for the old man to have 'escaped'. He'd already had it planned out, and probably had for days now.

"They won't really release credit card information or the like." Wilson said, though he wasn't completely sure by the doubtful look on his face. "Did he even have a credit card?"

"He probably had a round ticket." Chase offered, thinking carefully before speaking up. "And technically, I think Greyhound, you can set up a 'password' to pick up a ticket. And they won't release the information. I could buy a ticket for someone that doesn't have ID, and then set up the password, and they could pick it up just by giving them the word."

"Well, that's retarded." House decided in a scornful voice. "Though I'll keep that in mind the next time I need to do something nefarious."

"I think, we should call the police." Wilson insisted. "Even if we are to... respect... that he wants to go 'home', I'd feel better knowing he actually got there!"

House nodded, reluctantly. "I don't want to call the police... but I..." He shook his head. He was obviously trying to think, to plan, to plot. The pain in his leg was making it hard to think. Chase watched as he took a vicodin and continued to pace. "All right. Bringing him back here, is not an option. Chase is right. He'd just be resentful and unhappy. But I also don't want to have him killing himself in some motel room either. I want to be sure he actually gets home."

"Well, we could give it a certain amount of time, and then call the nursing home, to see if he made it home all right?" Chase offered. If this was a medical issue, he'd be right in there with the differential and the treatment options. But this was a bit beyond his ken.

It was about then that there was a knock on the door. House was still pacing back and forth while Wilson went to answer it. He apparently hoped it was Lee since Chase heard him call out the man's name. But it wasn't. "Tritter?" He heard Wilson say.

"I... come in peace?" Chase heard from the hallway. He frowned slightly, because while the voice sounded like Tritter's, it sounded too uncertain in his experience to be so.

"Get out of here! I have enough problems right now. Go harass someone else." House growled from where he was pacing quickly. He gripped his thigh hard with his hand and grimaced before continuing on his path. The look on his face was angry. Tritter coming around to bother them was the last thing House needed right now.

"What's the problem?" Chase head Tritter ask, curious and... did he sound worried? No. Impossible. Why would Tritter be worried about House?

"Just..." Wilson held up a hand and shut the door. Then opened it again, and stuck his head out. "Give us a few minutes." Chase saw Wilson turn back to them as he shut the door again. "Look, maybe he can be of use. We don't know how to look for someone like this. Maybe he could... find out." Wilson sounded helpless.

"That man has caused us enough problems. All he wants is to make my life miserable, and I'm not going to let him use Uncle Lee to do it." House fairly shouted. "Tell him to go away, unless he's got a warrant. And then? I want a lawyer. I'm not going through this again, not now."

There was another knock from the door and Chase faintly heard. "Whatever is going on? It's important that I talk to you. I'm not here to start a fight. If you're doing something illegal, I don't want to know about it! I have enough paperwork right now!"

Chase snorted in disbelief, that was unlikely. Or rather, impossible. Tritter lived to make their lives miserable, right? Or rather, House's?

Wilson re-opened the door. "We're not doing anything illegal. We're... arguing. Last I checked, that wasn't illegal."

"No, it isn't. Unless it comes to blows, then it is illegal." Tritter agreed. "I just want to talk to House about his father's case. I'm... this is important." He swore, holding up one hand.

"Go away." House yelled again, bending over to rub his leg.

"Ten minutes. Give me ten minutes of your time? And then I'm gone." Tritter promised, holding up a hand once more and then a huge file. "Believe it or not? I'm not the bad guy here. I'm not here for revenge. I'm trying to help."

"Likely story." House scoffed, turning to glare at the other man.

"Just, five minutes." Tritter tried again, bargaining. He looked like he was about to plead. "And then I'll leave."

House pressed his lips together, giving him a considering look. It was starting to sound like Tritter was truly desperate, and that gave House an edge. It also made him curious. Chase could tell by the look in his eyes. House had the speculative look that usually came into them about a minute before he took a case. "Fine... three minutes. Make it quick." House pushed the envelope a little more to see what Tritter would do. Trying to get Tritter to react with anger.

Tritter gave a reluctant nod, and entered the apartment for a second time in his life. He'd not risen to the bait, and that made even Chase curious.

House sat down in the recliner, giving him a pointed look. Chase wheeled backward, out of the Detective's way while Wilson sat down on the couch, looking nervous.

"Time is ticking." House said with a glare, rubbing his leg with one hand. "Tick-tock."

Tritter gave him a cold look, and pressed his lips together before holding out a very thick file. "These are all copies. The originals I've already handed over to the DA and FBI and other agencies interested in them."

House hadn't looked surprised until he mentioned the FBI. Now he squinted up at Tritter and as though with great distaste and distrust before he took the file into his hands. "What are you up to?"

"It isn't what I'm up to. It's what you're father has been up to since he was about eighteen." Tritter put his hands on his hips, causing his jacket to be pinned behind him. Chase realized that the stance was used to show off his badge and gun. It was probably unconscious at this point, but it was a reminder that the man was an authority figure and armed.

House though was ignoring Tritter as he opened the file. "My father... what the hell are you talking about?" He asked in irritation.

Tritter rubbed his jaw with his hand. It seemed that now that he was here, and talking to House, he wasn't sure how to phrase any of it. "Your father is an ongoing threat, and has been for decades."

He saw House start to open his mouth to protest and held up a hand to stall him. "Not just to you, but to others."

House scanned one of the pages in front of him, shaking his head slightly with a frown. "Emily Clark. Who..." He was perplexed as he read down the report. "Miscarriage?"

"Your, should have been, older brother." Tritter explained. "She got pregnant, and your father made sure she got 'un'pregnant. Your grandfather pulled some strings, was friends with the local sheriff who was apparently an old drunk himself, and it was smoothed over. To make it 'better', your dad left town. Joined the marines, went out to California, where he met your mother."

House's face was serious as he flipped through a few more pages. "I knew about the fights he used to get into in the bars out there. He used to practically brag about them." House looked a bit annoyed through that section.

"Did he tell you that a lot of the people he beat up weren't just other drunks, but homosexuals?" Tritter asked, pulling out a piece of gum and slipping it into his mouth.

That got House's attention, as well as Chase's.

"Are you... sure?" Wilson asked, shock all over his face.

Tritter nodded. "Took a bit of digging. Had to make some phone calls. Not many of them are still alive, you know. But I managed to track down a few of the people he beat up. They explained that, the marines in question used a favorite ploy that was to go to some place known for having homosexuals meet, and then let them buy them a drink... act like they were interested... and then lead them into the alley where the others were waiting. They'd beat the hell out of the guy, and then steal their wallets. A lot of them never reported it, because of the time period. Some reported it, but didn't reveal why they had been in the alley to begin with. The reports in your hands? Were reported, and as you can see? But, onnce more, the charges were dropped! Because your father was threatening to tell everyone that they had made a pass at him and he was just 'defending' himself. They didn't need that kind of spotlight on them at that point, so they let it go. Your father was not just a gaybasher. But he was a mugger too."

Wilson looked away in disgust while Chase closed his eyes. He felt his heart beat in a 'flutter' and took a deep breath. Just, stay calm. He told himself. He checked his pockets for his nitro, just in case.

House wiped a hand over his mouth and then down his chin as he sighed. "He... hit my mother?" He paged through the next report. "Again, charges dropped." He noted.

Tritter nodded. "There's three more of those, in two different states. All charges dropped. Neighbors reported him, but back then, the laws were different. She went home to him. But he didn't stop 'disciplining' her." He explained. "In fact? When you had that problem with your leg? And she came to see you? Apparently, she told him he was being too harsh with you. He took her back to the hotel that night? And 'disciplined' her."

Chase watched as House's face paled, his eyes narrowed and his lips became an almost invisible line. His hands clenched the file so tightly his knuckles were becoming white. "House..." Chase said in a soft, but warning voice. "Please, stay calm. You're dad is still in jail. You can't get to him anyway."

Tritter took a deep breath and cleared his throat. Chase noted that the man looked nearly apologetic. He wasn't 'crowing' about the stuff he'd revealed. He seemed, almost sorry. Perhaps he truly was treating House like any other 'victim' during an ongoing investigation. "You'll find the next section... interesting. I think. I know I did."

House turned through the next three pages which had to do with his mother, and came to the section Tritter was talking about. "This is impossible. My father never came before a court martial. We would have known."

Tritter shook his head. "A court martial doesn't always end with someone being punished. Nor does it have to take place in the United States. Hell, it can take place in a tent somewhere. Which is where his did. He was tried in Vietnam. It's when he came home in such a nasty mood, as your mother phrased it."

House paled further. "He pled guilty? How the hell did he plead guilty, and then not even get sentenced to anything?"

"What happened?" Wilson asked, giving House anxious looks. Chase was also concerned, because House seemed to be having trouble breathing as he looked about the room frantically.

"Way I figure it, it was part of the cover ups back then. The United States were losing, the public knew it. It was an unpopular war, and it would have been worse if all the atrocities were well known. Quite a few got away with stuff, or just mere slaps on the wrist. Way I figure it? He may also have had blackmail material on one or more of them. Either way? His 'punishment' was to be shipped home to a crap base. It shouldn't have been like that. He should have gone to prison. But once again, he got away with it. This time? Murder. Two of them."

Wilson's mouth dropped open while Chase's eyes widened. "What?" Wilson gasped. "Wait, how?"

"I thought it was... you know? A war thing. I mean did he kill other American soldiers?" Chase asked, confused.

Tritter shook his head, and opened his mouth to speak when House interrupted. "No. Two children. One beaten, both ended up shot. One was bound and shot in the head. There wasn't a chance in hell it was an accident. He did it... deliberately. And got away with it."

Tritter looked down with a sigh, nodding. It always felt like a sucker punch when he'd read about these kind of things. 'You represent your country. You are the face we present to the world. Do nothing to dishonor it!'

"They can't really use that though right? It's, what? Double something or another?" Chase asked, American law was still something he didn't quite understand even after living here for a few years. To be honest, he didn't always understand Australian law either, but that was beside the point.

He waved his hand back and forth and made a face. "As a matter of law, yes, because constitutionally there is no double jeopardy or double punishment. Both the Federal government and a State may prosecute someone for the same conduct. But, it usually doesn't go down like that. When this subject comes up? Usually it is the civilian court that had first crack at them, and then the military one deals with it in their records. But in this case? It'll be nearly impossible to go back on it because the crime happened in another country."

House's hands had the slightest shake to it as he paged through the file further. "These are from his various postings?" He asked quietly. "A list of every base we were sent to?"

Tritter nodded. "And these are the ones that I would really like to have your input on. I managed to get a list of every place he's ever been... but I'm trying to connect him with other homicides." He explained, pressing his hands together almost as though in prayer. "I don't think those two kids were his last victims. It's a wonder that you and Blythe didn't end up among them. But I think there's a few cases that could possibly be linked to your dad, and those? Those are the ones we can use to put him away for good. You and your mother would both be safe, and no one else would be at risk from him ever again. I'm rather concerned by all these out of country trips he's taken over the years too. It roughly fits his MO at this point."

"House?" Tritter took a deep breath. "I think your dad is a serial killer."

Tritter looked nearly embarrassed as he said it. "And I know how melodramatic that sounds. But if you look at his postings..." He held out a hand, but was stopped from further speaking as House held up a hand and was concentrating on something he was reading.

"You mentioned the FBI... you forgot to mention you also contacted Interpol." House muttered. "There's a pattern here. I never noticed before..." He trailed off.

"Well, you were just a kid, House." Tritter said awkwardly. "Not to mention, it is easier to be on the outside looking in sometimes. But yes, there's a definite pattern."

"Gimme my phone, Wilson." House said in a vague voice, reading and holding out his hand. Wilson jumped up and quickly complied. Wilson looked like a nervous wreck and had begun to pace behind House as House dialed a number.

Tritter was watching him, curious, but not stopping House. Probably wondering what House was up to. That was what Chase wondered as well when suddenly he heard House speaking in Japanese.

Tritter's brows shot up, as well as Wilson's. "What are you..." Wilson trailed off, not wanting to interrupt House since he was so intent on what he was doing.

Chase bit his lower lip and then cleared his throat. "He's... He's excusing himself for calling so late. It's about ten pm there."

"You understand what he's saying?" Wilson whipped around to look at Chase in shock.

Chase half shrugged, best he could and bowed his head. "A bit. He's trying to find a phone number. So far he's having no luck, they're transferring him."

Tritter sat down on the arm rest of the couch, and continued to be silent as he watched House and waited. He looked interested, even though he couldn't understand a word of what the man was saying.

It seemed he was on the phone forever, when he finally said in a soft voice. "Gomen nasai. Domo arigato gozaimasu."

He pushed the end button and then held the top of his phone against his lips, frowning. "You need to have them get in touch with the family of Yamamoto Seito. Yamamoto is the family name. Seito is the given. I was just talking to his mother, asking if they had ever solved his murder. They haven't. She'll be available to speak to you or them in about... Eleven hours. You have to give deference to the time difference. It's... a starting point." He sighed. "You'll need a translator. She doesn't speak much English."

"Find a list of all deaths within a one to two month period after I and my mother made our departure in all locations. Dad always followed during that time later. I can go through and see if I recognize any more of the names at that point. So far, I recognize about three more of them in your file. I was not aware they were dead, or that they had been murdered." House handed the file to Tritter, not looking him in the eye. "I only knew about Seito's death."

"The only reason I knew about Seito was because I tried to contact him once, a long time ago. I was told he'd been killed, shortly after I left. When we would move? Dad always followed after... said he wanted to tie up the loose ends himself because mom couldn't be trusted to do it right. We would live in a motel till he got there. The base is located in Iwakuni, Japan." He seemed distracted again, rubbing between his eyes. "Why didn't I ever see this?"

"You couldn't have known. Though I'm surprised that no one questioned closer his sending you and your mother ahead." Tritter shook his head, frowning.

Wilson paused in his pacing. "That's unusual?" He crossed his arms over his chest, looking over at Tritter.

Tritter nodded. "Usually, when transferring from one base to another, the family moves together at one time. The furniture and such is known to arrive later, because it is shipped in a different manner. So they often come to their new home being pretty empty. Before moving, you have to prepare the house for inspection, and those are notoriously hard to pass. Usually, there is some group or company that is called to come help clean up, so that you can actually pass. There's a pre-inspection and then the real inspection. Pre-inspection lets you know what you have to fix, clean, or otherwise get ready before the real inspection. I've never heard of someone sending the family ahead, and taking care of it himself. He'd still have to hire people to help, regardless. Otherwise, it is almost impossible to pass."

"Dad said it was because we were a pain in the ass to have underfoot. He didn't trust us to not mess it up." House sighed, rubbing his head. "He acted like we were incompetent."

"He was keeping you out from underfoot, so that no one could question his activities before he left." Tritter reasoned. "House, you couldn't have known. You were a kid. It's not your fault. I'll... make the necessary contacts." Tritter said awkwardly, running a hand over his short white hair. "Thank you, for your help and cooperation. It is appreciated."

He almost looked like he was going to offer his hand to House, but House was already standing up, and limping away quickly toward the bedroom. Wilson came to the rescue, as usual, when it came to social matters.

"I'm... thank you, Detective. I'm sure that later, House will... appreciate... the work you've put into this. We're all just overwhelmed right now. We had no idea this went so deep, or that it was so complex and involved." Wilson said in that heartfelt and sincere manner of his that won his way into the underwear of many women over the years.

Wilson was walking Tritter to the door, and stepped into the hallway with him, shutting the door.

Chase gave the door a speculative look. When Wilson didn't immediately return, he had a feeling about what the other man was discussing with Tritter. And it wouldn't be about House's father, but rather his Uncle. Wilson was worried, and he would be worried until he knew for sure that Lee was 'home safe'. Not that Chase could blame him, because he was worried himself. He just wished there was a better ending for this chapter in House's life. For any chapter in House's life! Because it seemed like the man was having his entire history and life destroyed in a hail of fire.

Wheeling himself toward the bedroom, he expected the door to be closed and was surprised to find it open. Looking inside, he saw House laying on the bed with an arm thrown over his eyes. His other hand clenched in a fist.

"Just get in here, and stop gawking." House growled out without moving his arm. His entire posture screamed tension and pain.

Chase took a deep breath and entered the room slowly. "I didn't want to bother you."

"I'm already bothered." He bit out between clenched teeth. "But not by you, at the moment. I just can't believe it was that prick Tritter that figured this out. Why did I never see this?"

"You weren't supposed to." Chase shook his head. "Isn't the point of doing something like this to make sure people never find out?" He asked. "I don't have statistics, but... I don't know. Isn't it the family that is usually the 'last' to know?"

"I should have realized. Seen some signs. Figured it out." House bitched, peeking out from under his arm to glare in Chase's direction.

Chase almost asked what he was more upset about. That his father was an alleged serial killer, or that Tritter figured it out instead of House.

Scratching the side of his face, he braced himself and asked. "What do you intend to do?" Chase just hoped it wasn't anything stupid.

"What can I do?" House asked sarcastically. "Not like I can go back in time and stop him from killing people? From killing Seito. My best friend in Japan. First guy I..." He grumbled and trailed off.

Chase felt his heart drop. His father killed House's first boyfriend? Insult to injury time a hundred. Chase rubbed his forehead and winced. This was not good. House's world was imploding fast.

Holding up his hands in surrender, Chase was about to retreat into the living room where he could hear Wilson returning when House spoke again. "I need someone to go talk to my mother."

"To let her know?" Chase asked tentatively. He could already imagine the wailing and tears. For once, he was glad he was on the 'bench' when it came to tasks like this.

"No. I doubt she'd believe it anyway." House snorted in disgust. "He could be standing over a body, gun in hand, blood splatter all over him and she would explain it away or rationalize it. No. I need to know what my symptoms were, exactly, as a child. Besides severe colic. She always said it was bad allergies, tonsils, ear infections. That every time she turned around, I was sick. But I never thought to question it, or to find out exactly what the symptoms really were."

Wilson spoke behind Chase, causing him to jump slightly. "You think he was trying to poison you? Get rid of you when you were still small, like he did to your brother?"

"I need to know precisely what it was she was seeing. I doubt I can get hold of my old records. I'll never know for sure, unless he confesses. But it is possible. He could have tried different things, which would explain the variation in symptoms over time." House sat up, grabbing his cane and running his fingers over the handle.

"Wouldn't it have been easier to suffocate you? Or, I dunno... shake you?" Chase asked, doubtful. "SIDS wasn't completely unknown back then."

"It would have been faster? But mom would have been more suspicious. It would have taken place while she was out of the room. And she rarely left me alone as it was. I was her angel from heaven. Her 'joy'. She loooooved me. And he knew it. But if I got sick, and died, and she was the one that took care of me, and nothing she did stopped it? Well... she'd be sad, but the chances of him keeping her at the same time were higher. No 'blame' on his part. Only, I didn't die. My mother took damn good care of me. Of course, I probably would have done a lot better if she'd gone by the 'breast is best' school of thought, he probably poisoned the formula." House shuddered. "Okay, we're not thinking that again. Me thinking of my mother's breasts just caused me severe trauma."

Chase smiled slightly, because House was starting to joke a little. He was adjusting, but more importantly? He had a puzzle in front of him. One he wanted to solve. That helped House put things into perspective quickly, and made it easier for him to deal with any given situation.

"There's no way to prove it. It was, what? Nearly fifty years ago. Not quite, but... Still pretty sure that there's no way to test for it at this point!" Wilson pointed out. "It'll all still be speculation!"

"No. No way to test for it now... or maybe..." He stood up suddenly and started pacing, a maniacal look in his eyes as he started to smirk. "Get Foreman, Cameron and... that little ratbastard, Turner. Wilson, you're going to. I need you to go to my mother, and get her to give you the keys to their place. You all are going on a road trip!"

"What?" Wilson gasped, incredulous. He couldn't have been more stunned if House announced that he was growing antlers. "Are you insane?"

"Maybe. But you're going to go through my baby things." House said smugly, standing in front of him balanced on is left leg with the right slightly to the side. His cane made up the difference in balance. He looked perfectly at ease at that point.

"What..." Wilson blinked, raising his hands in a 'hold on' gesture. "What is that..."

House raised a brow and prompted in a condescending voice. "Come on, Jimmy. Use your words... you can do it! I have faith."

The older man smiled slowly as he started to explain his thought process. "My mother, did what all mothers did when I was growing up. She kept a lock of my hair, from the first time she cut it. She also kept the umbilical cord that fell off. She even kept a baby book. I want it all. Pictures, the baby book, the hair, the umbilical cord. Hell my first tooth that came out... search through my old baby clothe, see if you find anything in them. Old blood stains. All of it. Bring back my Bun-Bun and my Woob-blankie! All of it. I want them to go to the lab, and look for evidence! We'll go through the symptoms, and test for the most likely agents."

Wilson gaped like a fish out of water, before wiping a hand first up and then down his face. "You're serious!"

"Time's wasting! Go! Go!" House shooed. "We'll keep in touch via the phone. Go see my mother, and then gather up your 'team'."

Giving Chase the same shocked and incredulous look, Wilson finally nodded. "I'll need to talk to Cuddy first. Out of state trips out of the blue for four doctors? That's going to take a lot of fast talking." He started out of the room, grabbing his jacket as he went.

"Offer to father her children!" House shouted after him. "She'll do whatever you want for a chance at Little Jimmy's magic bullets!"

"Somehow, I doubt that." Wilson rolled his eyes, obviously not believing him, and thinking that House was joking.

The door closed loudly, leaving them in silence.

House stood watching the door for several minutes. He rubbed his chin and then went to the recliner. Without a further word, he sat down and grabbed the remote. Chase rolled forward and then transferred himself to the couch, keeping quiet for now.

"Hell of a day so far." House commented, and then turned on the television with a click. "Worse than my soap operas." He muttered, turning to one of them as he spoke.

Chase smiled weakly and nodded. He had to agree.


	77. Chapter 77

"He can't be serious." Cuddy stared with wide eyes at Wilson who just cringed a little under her scrutiny as he held out his hands. "I can't have four of my doctors just waltz out of here on a road trip on one of his whims!"

"If we don't go, he's just going to try to go himself." Wilson told her earnestly. "And despite how well he's doing, he's not fit to drive. Or to go on a long trip. All it would take is a second impact..."

She held her fingertips to her forehead, rubbing her temples as she squeezed her eyes closed. "But why them? Why them specifically? Why does he need to do this? Would any of this be admissible in court anyway?"

"I... don't know. It could be?" Wilson said weakly. "You could call Stacy and ask her. I believe she and Mark are still at the hotel, because she has to keep House's mother from doing anything else stupid. As for why them? They're better trained than his new Fellows. They've done this kind of thing before. They know House, and they'll know how important it is. They have the best emotional connection to him, and therefore would be more likely to go that extra mile." He reasoned.

"What about Turner?" Cuddy put her hands on her desk and gave him a disbelieving look.

Wilson blew out a breath, letting his lips vibrate a little. "To make... Cameron happy?" He suggested as he shrugged.

Why else would Turner be sitting in Cameron's living room, making himself at home? So that was the only reason that Wilson could come up with for including him.

She rolled her eyes. "You believe those rumors?" She snorted. It was apparent that she had no such thoughts. Especially, the way she was shaking her head.

"Believe and seen. Just last night, he was sitting on her couch reading a book." Wilson gossiped quickly, looking almost excited to be able to share that tidbit with the woman. It wasn't often he got to Cuddy first with something new and interesting! House usually beat him.

"You're kidding?" Her eyes widened, her mouth opening a little bit as she took in the new piece of information. "Are you sure? You're serious? Turner and Cameron?"

"Not to make a bad joke, but serious as a heart attack! Shoes off, sitting on her couch, looking like he belonged there!" Wilson leaned in a little as he spoke quickly. "She had called me, to pick up ice cream that she said she owed to House and Chase. They had an outing earlier in the day, going to the movies. Of course, Turner and House got thrown out, but... I figure it is a win that they didn't actually kill each other!"

She crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. "People have all gone insane around me. I might be the last sane person alive."

Wilson gave her a sympathetic look. "It gets easier if you just go with the insanity. I got tired of fighting it. I'm okay with my mental breakdown now. It only hurts the first few months, and then you no longer care. The voices in your head keep you company. It's like having a friend always at your shoulder, telling you to smother House in his sleep. But... you learn to ignore that part!"

Giving her a more serious look, he said, "Please, just give us two or three days. We'll pay for their tickets. We meaning, me, of course. And we'll fly out there, search the house, and come back. It's better than House and Chase trying to haul themselves out there."

She grimaced and looked extremely pained. It was a common look when dealing with House and his antics. "He'd do it, too."

"Yes, he would." Wilson agreed. "Lisa, believe me when I say, this is the lesser of the two evils. I'll work on rescheduling everything and finding someone to cover, not just for me, but the other three as well. I'm sure Eileen can take over for Turner. She is the one that sees most the patients anyway. I'll take care of this. You won't have to do a thing!" He promised, holding his hands up as he gave her an earnest and sincere look. "I know how hard you work. I'll try to make this as painless, as possible."

He could see her starting to bend and give in. Her shoulders were slowly coming down from near her ears and relaxing. The moment they were back into their original position, he knew he'd won.

"Okay, but I want updates! And don't get arrested!" She stressed, shaking a finger at him. "And YOU talk to Stacy before you go! Just in case there's something more she needs to know about or that she can suggest! I don't want to have to dip into House's Defense Budget, to cover your ass too."

"Well, technically we're going on House's orders, so it would still apply. But? Yes, ma'am!' Wilson saluted her and turned on his heel heading out.

She sighed with a small smile. "RJ is a bad influence." She breathed out again as she sat down and started looking through her appointment book.

Wilson was trying to think of everything he needed to do, as quickly as he could. He had to gather them up. He had to make the airline arrangements. He had to talk to Stacy and Blythe... Not to mention work out how to cover not one, but four different departments.

It was daunting.

The things he did for House. He shook his head. Sometimes, he wondered if House actually appreciated all the trouble he went to on a regular basis for him. But then, he knew that House really did, even if he didn't say it in words all the time.

He headed straight to his office, sitting down and booting up his computer while he grabbed the phone and started to dial numbers. The numbers and their extensions were helpfully listed on a plastic card by his phone. He didn't think he could have remembered them all otherwise. House seemed to be able to, but he couldn't.

The ER's phone rang a few times before it was picked up. "ER." The breathless voice informed him.

He found the travelocity website and frowned. He hated trying to figure out websites like this.

"This is Dr. James Wilson. May I speak with Dr. Cameron please?" He asked politely.

"Just a moment." The woman's voice told him, and he was put on hold. He just hoped that they didn't lose his call. It seemed that every time they put him on hold, they would disconnect him.

"Hello?" Cameron asked, sounding curious and concerned within seconds. "Dr. Wilson?"

"I have... the strangest request. Would you be willing to go with me, and a few others to Kansas? House wants us to get some things from his mother's house so that they can be analyzed." Wilson winced at the words. They sounded so odd. "He'd also like it if Turner went as well. I promised Cuddy I'd also help find people to cover for your shifts."

"Oh! I can help with that, but why does he want things from Kansas? Is this about his dad?" She asked eagerly.

"Yes, but I'd rather not discuss it on the phone. If you could get help to cover your shift, I'd really appreciate it. And come up to my office? Perhaps you could also find Turner?" He was hoping that Cameron could talk Turner into it, for him! That way Wilson didn't have to be on the receiving end of his sharp tongue.

"I'll be there as soon as possible!" She promised, and hung up quickly.

Next, he called one of the doctors in his department, asking him to cover for him, in exchange for promising to cover for the next big holiday that came around. Securing that promise, he called Foreman next. With him, there was no immediate answer, but he left a message to come see him in his office as well.

He frowned at Travelocity. It was daunting trying to work his way through the maze. It seemed to want you to already know what you need. That didn't work for him, because he was clueless.

He called Stacy next.

"Hello, Stacy Warner, may I help you?" She answered her phone immediately, but seemed distracted. He could hear the distant clicking of keys and figured she was at her computer doing something.

"It's me, James. I hope I'm not interrupting." He said, clicking his mouse in annoyance as he realized that he let too much time lapse and had lost his initial search. Grr.

Search Flights

"Oh, no, not really. Just writing out some things for my personal record keeping. Is anything wrong?" She asked, probably because the only time they seemed to call her was because she was needed for something. "What did Greg do this time?"

"Um, have you heard from Tritter or the DA?" He asked, a little uncertain as he watched the site attempt to load a page.

"Not today, but... I'm guessing he came to talk to Greg? About the information that has been uncovered?" She asked carefully. But Wilson could hear the reservation in her voice, the uncertainty.

Round Trip

From New Jersey to Kansas

Dates... He winced and put in within a few days. He hoped he could get a flight sooner than that. Otherwise, he'd have to check other options. Plus or minus one to three days. Four adults.

We have found more than one airport match for "New Jersey". What you can do: Please select airport below to include in your search.

He clicked on Philadelphia Trenton-Mercer Airport (TTN) - Trenton, NJ

We have found more than one airport match for "Kansas". What you can do: Please select airport below to include in your search.

"Yeahhhh, what do you think? Think he's right? Think he really did all that?" Wilson asked. "It just seems really, insane? That's the kind of things that happen on television shows, usually with the letters CSI in it."

"I don't know. I don't know what to think. I can't argue the past reports. I also know what Blythe told me. I just don't know." She admitted. "There's a difference though between abuse and murder. Though one can lead to the other."

He clicked on Wichita Mid-Continent Airport (ICT) - Wichita, KS

"House was pretty much convinced. Now he's wondering if his constant illnesses as an infant could indicate poisoning or something. In fact, he wants some of us to get the key from his mom, and go search through his baby things and bring it all back here to be looked at. Lisa wanted me to call you, about it. Make sure we're not going to get into trouble." He finished in a rush, wincing as he did so.

Unfortunately, no flights met your search criteria for the airports you selected.Possible Causes: This could be a peak travel time for your destination. Your search may have been restricted by airline, stops, fare class, or fare type. What you can do: Read more about limited flight schedules. Try another search with surrounding airports. Try a /- 1 to 3 days or a flexible date search. Include all airlines and/or stops in your search.

He made a face and clicked 'flexible date search'.

Search Flights.

She sighed loudly on the other side. "I should have known his mind would go in that direction. Well, I don't think 'chain of evidence' will be an issue, per se. The items have been all over the world, and handled by multiple people over the years. I take it this is one of his, just to satisfy his curiosity, things? I'm not sure if the FBI have searched her house as yet. They might do so soon, if they haven't already."

Wilson nodded, and then realized she wouldn't see that. "Yes. But he's really bothered by it all. He wants answers! I just... can't believe that John would do that? I mean, I've met him. And true, I didn't think he was a child abuser? But I couldn't imagine that he would be a... psychopathic madman. He doesn't act like it. If anything? I thought he was just concerned about House being miserable and unhappy. Wanting him to embrace life again instead of using his leg to hide behind."

Stacy laughed.

"What?" Wilson asked defensively. She was laughing at him? Why? He frowned and looked at the results.

There are no fares offered between the selected cities.

ARGH!

He clicked on compare surrounding airports.

Nothing. He clicked again, flexible flight schedule. He felt like banging his head against the desk. This was why travel agents were created, he was sure of it.

"James? If killers looked like killers? Don't you think the police would pick them up faster?" She asked with a trace of wry amusement. "And, you never witnessed some of the fights he had with his dad before the Infarction. The leg was John's excuse for more argument. Not because he wanted to help. It just had the benefit of looking like he cared to anyone that was watching. I was in the kitchen once, while he and Greg argued in the living room. And that argument was also crouched in 'I really care, but I don't agree with your choices' terms. On top? Looked like a caring dad. But when I looked deeper? I saw he was being an asshole. Greg was already a famous doctor in his own right, and his father was telling him that he needed to 'come home'. To 'be with family'. When the truth is? Greg never had a real home! What is home to someone that spent their entire life living like a nomad, wandering over the world? John's idea of home is wherever he states it is. Greg's is where he feels comfortable. It was about control. That's all it was. He was trying to control Greg. And irritatingly enough? ME by extension. Ohhhh, I was NOT pleased. We left that night!"

There are no fares offered between the selected cities.

He wanted to throw his computer. Frustrated. He frowned. "I did not know about any of that. He never told me! Not one word."

Find Airport. Maybe he should try a different airport.

She sighed softly on the phone. "Of course not. We didn't even discuss it ourselves. If I tried to bring it up, he would just say 'it's over, done with, not a problem'. It wasn't open FOR discussion. I tried to talk to Blythe once about it? And of course, she said 'Oh, John just cares for Greg and misses him. He meant well.' I swear that woman could rationalize anything!"

"Just like House." Wilson muttered to himself.

Wilson rubbed his face, staring at his options. He needed a map, but at this point he was wondering if anyone ever flew from New Jersey to Kansas before! He picked Dodge City. DDC. Then hit search again.

NOTHING!

This time he tried GCK. He had no idea where the hell that airport was, but he was at this point doing it at random. If they could just get into the state, at this point. GBD.

"James? Are you still there?" She asked. "Are you all right?"

"Yes. I'm trying to find a flight out there." He grumbled, feeling grumpy at this point. He didn't like the turn his life was taking at the moment. He just wanted to have a nice quiet evening watching television and maybe drink a couple of beers. He didn't want to go out of state playing amateur detective. "Does NO ONE go to Kansas?"

"Not if they can help it!" She joked, chuckling in amusement.

LBL, MHK, SLN...

"Oh, my god. There are NO Flights that go from here to there? What the hell?" James gasped. Now he had a great appreciation for his secretary who usually made all his arrangements. "What? Is it in another dimension? Should I start summoning spirits and asking them to take us? How much do you think they charge? Should I get a goat?"

She giggled on the other end. Great, well, at least she was amused.

At this point, he was willing to pay for a charter. He decided to check the trains. He wasn't sure what stations so he picked one in Newark and then let it go to Newton. At least they both started with the word New. And HEY... there were trains.

It wasn't the price that bugged him though, it was the time period. It would take all weekend to get there. He sighed rubbing his eyes. He'd have to try something different. Maybe if he tried a different airport in New Jersey?

"Having all sorts of trouble, aren't you?" Stacy teased, an almost sad tone to her voice. "I'd help you? But I didn't make the arrangements last time, and that was over ten years ago anyway. I'd be no help."

"Just slightly. I hate this website." He admitted. This was like trying to solve a puzzle. Which airport to which airport would 'work'. Then he remembered he had yet another task set before him today. "Stacy? Do you have Blythe's phone number? Does she know yet?"

She was quiet a moment and then said. "No. No, she doesn't. At least, she didn't know a couple of hours ago. I just found out myself! I doubt she would believe it anyway. I'm not completely sure if I believe it myself, but it doesn't look good. Not from what I've seen so far. I think it is more that I don't WANT to believe it. And there's no concrete proof yet. That's why they are investigating. No. Proof."

"Do you think she'll give me trouble about the key?" He asked, rubbing his forehead with his fingertips. He wondered briefly if he was too old to run away and join the circus. He could sell peanuts in the stands.

"I don't really know." She said honestly. "Maybe if you don't tell her it is for evidence?" She sounded a little reluctant on that issue. "But she's going to want to know why you want the key, and why you plan to go there. You're going to have to figure out what you're going to say."

He googled for 'cheap travel'. Google was his friend.

Priceline! He clicked the link. He had forgotten about Priceline! For some reason the little gnome was more memorable than Shatner. Maybe because of Turner? Gnome. Turner. He shook his head. He'd been around House too long.

While he waited for it to load, she gave him the phone number for Blythe. "Thank you." He said before terminating the call with a friendly good bye.

He put in the information, this time changing the date from that day, to the next day after a false start. "OH HO!" He cheered, raising his hands in victory. "Thank you PRICELINE and Captain KIRK!" He pumped his fist down and grinned. "Yes!"

A bit over six hours, 262 dollars per person. Leave tomorrow, be back in two days. It was economy, true, but considering he was footing this bill? Let's see, says 304 'total' per person. He didn't understand why they didn't just 'say' the final price, but as long as they stated it at some point. He sighed to himself. Well, he'd paid a lot more in the past few years for one of House's 'whims', so this wasn't nearly as bad. This was chump change, and of course, he was still the chump. But he had to admit, he was a bit curious himself, at this point.

He was just putting in the information to buy the tickets when Cameron and Turner arrived. Turner was giving him a suspicious look, while Cameron was just curious. But the important thing was that Cameron had managed to talk Turner into coming with her.

Wilson gave them a small smile and finished confirming all the information on the website. He could feel his credit card crying in pain. "How... would you two feel about an all expenses paid trip... to Kansas to help me find all of House's baby things and bring them back here?"

It sounded even sillier this time around. Wilson tried to keep the grimace off his face, though.

Turner gave a small snort of laughter. "Chase got Greg pregnant? Do we need to explain the birds and the bees to them again?"

Cameron slapped his shoulder, but Turner still looked amused by the thought.

"What is going on?" Cameron crossed her arms over her chest and gave him an incredulous look. "Why does House want all his baby things?"

Surprisingly, Turner didn't look surprised now, only curious at this point. Foreman picked that moment to step inside. Wilson acknowledged his presence and waved him further in.

"Well... long story short? There's a slim possibility that House's dad tried to poison him as an infant, and House wants to satisfy his curiosity by going through all his baby things, including a lock of hair that she kept of his from his very first haircut. He wants us, to go fetch it all back, and probably search through the house for other things." Wilson summed up, looking at each person for a second.

"Is he insane?" Foreman asked. "Look, I know that they had a fight, and that it got really out of hand. I know that he was an abuser. That doesn't mean that he tried to kill House when he was an infant!" Foreman protested. "There's limits to..."

"He caused an ex-girlfriend to miscarry, and killed two children in Vietnam. One was bound, and shot execution style. He pled guilty? But received no punishment." Wilson said quickly, holding up a hand to pause Foreman.

Foreman stared at him, silent for a moment while Cameron covered her mouth in shock.

Turner just looked interested, raising his brows. "Fascinating." He muttered.

Foreman recovered first and asked. "Still, how does that translate out to trying to kill his own son?" But this time his voice was a bit softer asking, as though uncertain of his own conviction now.

Wilson frowned and grimaced. "Tritter has been gathering information, and thinks they might be able to link John House with some other murders in other countries. We're not sure yet, but House still wants to look into his past medical problems. Apparently, he was a very sickly child. It would just be better if we went and did it, rather than risk House and Chase trying to drag themselves out there and doing it."

"This is insane." Foreman shook his head, rubbing his face and looking away. "This is beyond insane. This is on another planet strange. There has to be another explanation."

"This is impossible!" Cameron protested, looking shock. "I know he... he did terrible things! But this is extreme! This is too extreme! It's insane, like Foreman just said! I've talked to him before, he was... nice! Seemed sweet! House told me he had a very strict moral compass. Someone with a moral compass to that extreme doesn't... kill people!"

"Look, I know..." Wilson started, looking unsure himself. He was still having trouble believing it himself. Maybe Tritter was just reaching? Or messing with them? "It's still possible that, he didn't do anything other than that which he already pled guilty to in the past?"

It was Turner that interrupted both of them. "That isn't how it works. You can't look at someone, and tell if they have killed people. You can't look at someone, and see their crimes. That isn't how it works." He insisted. "It's not going to be written on their foreheads! 'I killed four people over the course of fifty years.'"

"And how does it work?" Wilson asked in slight irritation. It was the tone more than anything that grated him at the moment. Turner sounded like a 'know-it-all' and was quick to believe the worst. True, House seemed to believe it himself at the moment? But he always believed the worst as a matter of course, and Wilson was used to it from House.

He took a breath and let it out in annoyance, a mild glare in Wilson's direction. "People avoid other people that act crazy." He explained as though to a small child. "People that act nuts, get nabbed pretty early on. Forced to be medicated, or they are avoided by everyone that meets them. You see someone talking to themselves in the street, yelling that they are Jesus and that the second coming is here? You know not to go talk to them, mostly because you can't predict how they will act. You go walk on the other side of the street with your hand on your cellphone prepared to dial 911 as fast as you can! But even then? Most of those lunatics, would benefit from meds, and therapy, and maybe some in-hospital care. We're taught early on to avoid people that look insane. We steer our children clear and tell them to stay away from the man with the 'wild' look in his eyes. The man with the greasy stringy hair, the man in the dirty clothing, the man that is sitting rocking in the corner and shaking his head to himself as he mutters!"

"But the kind of killer that they are accusing Uncle John of being? Doesn't act like that. They are charming, they are polite, they try to be nice. You could put them in a suit? And you literally could not pick them out of the crowd. They hang out in churches, hold jobs, and look respectable. They hold positions of authority! They are actors, and life is their play. They're con artists! They learn early on how to manipulate, as well as 'act' right. They wear their masks all the time! The world is a stage for them! They join church groups, volunteer, they 'fit' in." Turner explained. "They are the 'every man'."

"They are as I said, attracted to authority. Many join the military, and a few are even very patriotic. Some try to become police officers or as close as they can become if they wash out. They only start to act 'insane' once they've been caught. And that's because they're usually trying to save their asses." Turner snorted. "Then it's all 'oooo I heard voices.' and 'ooooo, I had a blackout'. It's usually bullshit, but hard to prove bullshit. It's just another role, giving people what they think they need to see, in order to get by. They're smart, manipulative, and further more? Usually in control of their actions, which makes them far more dangerous than the nut on the street, or the drug addict just trying to score. More dangerous than the common thug trying to get by. Because they plan, think it out, and reason. And more importantly? They don't have sympathy for others. Though? They can fake it!"

"And how the hell do you know all this?" Foreman demanded, arms crossed over his chest giving Turner a suspicious look.

"Because, what do you think I've been accused of in the past?" Turner rolled his eyes, scoffing. "I act 'creepy'. A 'sociopath'. I've been called a 'potential or probable' serial killer a few times from people that thought they were 'so smart' themselves."

He sighed softly and crossed his arms over his own chest and admitted. "But when I was younger? I started to wonder if there was something to it. I wasn't always confident in myself. So I started to 'worry'. I became afraid that they might be right, and that I would do something crazy someday. So? I started looking it all up. Started to research it. I still check what's going on in the world too, because it was fascinating as hell. But guess what? I'm actually, too 'creepy' to be a likely serial killer. Most of all? I don't care if I don't fit in. And I enjoy watching others get pissed off at me. I don't find any need for... whatever it is... they get out of it. "

"But, John House? I mean... Wilson? You said it yourself that they didn't want him to be miserable? Why would a parent that would want to kill their kid as a baby, care if he's miserable as an adult?" Cameron asked.

"Because that was my theory? Which... was never really proven." Wilson winced. "Projection from my own feelings? It's not like I ever asked them. It was a theory. I... thought they were nice too! House never told me that his father did those things to him as a kid!"

Turner gave a bark of laughter, shaking his head, amused. "Albert Fish? One of the worst killers in history? Had six children and was considered a wonderful father. He raised them after his wife left him and even took all the furniture when the youngest was three years old. He did marry I think two or three other times? But they were illegal marriages since he wasn't yet divorced from his first wife. At the time of his arrest for killing and eating Gracie Budd? His children were all in their twenties and thirties, the youngest being twenty-one years old, the oldest? I think was thirty-five."

"This is all... um... very fascinating, if disturbing and creepy? But I still can't see John House, eating another person." Wilson looked ill, and he grabbed his coffee cup, sipping it to try and remove the taste of bile in his mouth.

"Not all serial killers are cannibals and necrophiles." Turner gave him an annoyed look. "We know he was physically abusive. But I think his was just the ultimate need to dominate and control. And what better way to do that? Than to take a life. The ones he killed probably represented something to him that he didn't like, or he'd seen them DO something he didn't like."

"My Uncle actually fits the profile of a serial killer." He continued. "The time period he was probably most active was in his twenties and thirties. He's a white male from the lower-middle class. At least, until he was in his forties and made his money through careful investment. He was definitely mentally and potentially physically abused by his father. He liked to be the one to light the fires on the farm, and control it when they were burning brush. I have no idea if he was a bedwetter, or if he tortured small animals? But hey, maybe he did, it's not like anyone would talk about it!"

"That doesn't automatically mean they are a serial killer. Otherwise, half the population would be!" Foreman argued.

Turner nodded. "Why do you think its such a fascinating subject? Because while the serial killers in question have things that are similar to each other? There is no automatic indication that someone WILL become one. They can turn out pretty normal. So? What is it that creates these people? Are they born with something wrong in their heads? Missing something in their souls? No one is SURE! It's... fascinating."

Wilson shuddered and Cameron looked a little ill.

Turner shrugged. "For someone to be labeled a serial killer, they have to have killed three or four people with a cooling period between each one. A period where they do 'nothing'. That period can be weeks, months, or even years. Decades! Usually their victims are strangers, or someone they met once or twice, they appear random and unconnected making it hard to tie together. But there's been quite a few that killed within their families. But even then? They try to keep ahead of the 'game'. And with moving from country to country? That would do it." Turner further explained as Cameron slowly sank down on the couch listening.

Foreman was also listening intently as Turner continued. "The murders reflect a sadistic need to dominate someone else. He has always been dominating. It fits him. He wants to control, not only himself, but those around him and by extension? The world around him."

"The motive is almost never profit. It is for the psychological need. They like to choose vulnerable people. Or people they THINK of as vulnerable, and usually they represent something symbolic. Killing younger people? They are by their very nature, vulnerable!" Turner put his hands on his hips, he'd given all the information in a memorized way. Point by point as he'd learned it. "He had time, opportunity, and he fits the profile. The thing that is off, is that he attacked Greg in the hall in a public building. Which indicates there was a line, that Greg crossed. Probably the revelation that he was in a relationship with another male."

"John House used to mug gay men in California when he was in boot camp." Wilson made a face, looking down, pained to have to point it out or bring it up. It made the 'hate crime' aspect more likely.

"Insult to injury. He was already bucking his authority by kicking him out of his life. Even if John wasn't really telling him what to 'do' anymore, he was still able to exert some control. Then to basically say he was doing something that John felt was disgusting and against 'God' and the 'Order' of things?" Thomas shrugged a little. "Might have pushed him further. Or for all we know, he has a tumor that pushed him over the edge. Or he has a chemical imbalance. Or perhaps this Tritter is all off base? And none of this ever happened except in his own little imagination. It doesn't change the fact that John House is a giant asshole that shoved his son's head into a wall after a childhood of abuse."

"So, what are we going to do?" Cameron asked cautiously, looking from one man to another. She had wrapped her arms around her and looked a bit nauseous still.

"I say, we go." Turner said decisively. "I'm curious now. I'd like to see what we find. I think not only should we search for the baby things, but I want to see if there's anything else there. I'm sure the FBI will be there soon enough. If they haven't already been! But... I want to go."

"I don't know, man. I don't think we should get in the middle of what could be an FBI investigation." Foreman held up his hands. "I'm sure they're going to go to the house if they are investigating him as a serial murderer. And they're not going to be too pleased if they find out we've been snooping around like a poor man's Scooby gang."

"Then stay here, Scooby. I get to be Fred. Allison is Daphne, and Wilson can be Shaggy." Turner said. "But I'm going. They're going to ignore all the baby stuff anyway. We'll need tickets." He told the last to Cameron.

"I already have tickets ordered." Wilson said quickly, holding up one of his hands. Offering a weak smile. "Tomorrow is when we leave." His stomach was rolling over in nervousness.

"You all are insane. House says jump, and you're all jumping." Foreman accused, giving them all a glare. He also had his hands on his hips, his lips pressed together."Every one of you! Including you, Turner!"

"No. Greg suggested something, and now I'm curious. You on the other hand? Are worried about going to prison, and therefore... a wuss." Thomas gave him a small smirk. "That's fine. You stay here. You'd just be underfoot anyway. Allison? We should pack."

"Allison?" Foreman asked incredulously. "Allison? You two really are dating? First House and Chase, and now you two? Has everyone lost their minds?"

"Yes." Turner answered quickly. "Now, run along and tend to your patients. We have packing to do, and a house to search this weekend."

"And how many houses have you searched, Turner?" Foreman asked, crossing his arms over his chest as he moved in front of the door, barring Turner's way. "Hm? Is this a family thing? Do you all learn new techniques at the House family reunion?"

"None, but there's a first time for everything." Turner smirked at him. "Besides, what does it matter to you? You've already wussed out. Allison, Wilson, and I are going to search the house."

"Wilson doesn't know what he's doing. You don't know what you're doing. The only one that does, is Cameron... oh sorrrrry... 'Allison'. And she's going to be too busy 'aw'ing' over baby-House to do anything productive!" Foreman told them as he gestured at each one of them in turn.

She scoffed, giving him an annoyed look. "I would not!" She denied, but her eyes shifted to the side and looked away at the last moment.

"Yes, you would." Turner rolled his eyes and smirked. He looked amused. "But that is besides the point. It doesn't change the fact, that we're going. And that it shouldn't matter to Boreman. Because he said he's not going!"

"Funny. You should do stand-up." Foreman shook his head, looking unimpressed as he again pressed his lips together. "You three have no idea what you're going into. You're going to end up getting into trouble. You're going to get arrested! You need to get in, and out, as fast as you can without disrupting anything. Chances are? They've already gone through the house, or they will soon. Depends on whether or not they got the warrants lined out yet. You can't be still sitting there sorting through 'cute' baby pictures of House all bright eyed and playing with mud pies when the investigators arrive, or if they answer a call that someone is in the house because the neighbors reported you."

"Yeah? So?" Turner countered, looking bored. "And?"

Foreman glared at the smaller man. "I'll... go. But only to keep you three out of trouble. Cuddy would throw a fit if you all ended up in prison."

"Yeah, right. You want to poke around too." Turner laughed quietly. "You just need to make yourself believe you have to for some greater reason. Whatever you need to tell yourself at night, Foreman. Just find someone to cover for you this weekend, and go pack."

With that, he ducked under and around the other man easily, and slipped through the door. Cameron gave Foreman an encouraging smile and followed, leaving Foreman alone with Wilson.

He jerked a thumb behind him toward the door. "Any other odd couples I should know about?" He asked. "Are you dating that weird janitor with the backward pants?"

Wilson was surprised into laughter and shook his head. "No. I'm too expensive for him." He joked. "Foreman? Thank you." He said, meaning every word.

"Yeah? Well, you better be able to bail us all out, that's all I got to say." Foreman sounded disgruntled as he headed toward the door, shutting it with a bit more force than necessary.

Left alone, he looked down at the phone number Stacy had given him and took a deep breath. What was he going to say to Blythe?

--

She was still in the same hotel that she and her husband had checked into when they first arrived. They didn't want her to leave town for now, in case they wanted to ask her some more questions. Blythe was starting to wonder if she'd ever see home again, at this point.

Blythe was past the point of crying. The police had been there and gone, a dozen times by now. Each time asking questions and more questions until she was no longer sure if her answers were the same. If she forgot something and then remembered it later, they would act like she had purposely hidden it, or made it up. It depended on the officer that was there at the time which tactic they would take.

Some were 'mean', and some were nice, trying to act like they were just trying to help her.

They were all only trying to use her, and she knew it.

The phone within the room no longer accepted calls. And there was a police officer that stayed in the lobby to deter any press.

That was one aspect she hadn't realized would be such a problem when this all began in earnest. The press. And they all wanted to talk to her.

The hospital didn't allow them in, and when caught were escorted out at this point. She wasn't sure if they still had to deal with them meeting them at their cars, or if they had finally given up bothering the doctors all together. She did know it wasn't common knowledge that her son and his... friend... were home now. It was generally believed they were still at the hospital, and no one was keen on correcting that assumption.

Stacy had given her a cell phone to use, with a number unconnected to her name so that she could get in touch with her when she needed to. So far it had only rang maybe twice since it was presented to her, and that is why when it started to chirp this time, it had surprised her into startling.

"Hello?" She asked cautiously, ready to push 'end' should it be anyone except Stacy.

"Mrs. House? It's Dr. Wilson." He spoke hesitantly in return.

"Dr. Wilson? I..." She sighed. "I was wondering you would get in contact at some point." She said sadly, expecting another third degree or a lecture.

"Mrs. House, I was wondering... um..." He trailed off, not sure how to approach this. "Would it be too much trouble for you to let me have the key to your house? Your son wants some things there."

"What things?" She asked, instantly suspicious now. "More evidence against John? What more do you possibly need? They have him on tape attacking Greg. They'll have my testimony, as well as others. What could he possibly need from our house that the police and FBI haven't already brought back?"

"So, you know about the new allegations?" Wilson asked carefully.

"Yes, and they are completely ridiculous. There's not a shred of truth to them." She said with conviction. "It's that Detective fellow trying to make a name for himself, and using our family to do it. It's bad enough that, well, John did what he did. I... can't deny that. But this? This is ridiculous! I do not believe it, and you shouldn't either! And I'm disappointed that Greg apparently does."

"Mrs. House." He said helplessly. "I... don't really know what to believe." He admitted. "All I know, is that Greg wants to look at his baby books, the toys he played with as a child, and his clothing. That's all he wants."

She was silent, as was Wilson for so long that each thought perhaps the other had hung up. But just as Wilson was about to ask if she was still there, she asked, "Why?"

"He's... curious?" Wilson offered still helpless. "He wants to look at it all. He wants to read the things you wrote, and look at the pictures you took. I... think... in a way, it might even be like therapy? Bring him some closure, somehow?"

He was desperate to put a good spin on this, because he didn't want or need any more resistance in this drama. Not to mention, there was probably some degree of therapy and closure to the situation for House. He could appease his own curiosity and put those questions to rest.

"He's not fit to travel, though?" She half asked, half stated playing with the fabric of her blouse as she looked down.

"No. Which is why he's wanting to send me and a couple of other people.We're not going to poke through your other things. We're just wanting the baby things, which... will be returned to you. They won't even go to the police." He winced as he said that, because he had no real idea as this point if that was true or not. "The FBI and other agencies have already searched the house? Right? Nothing we take would be of importance to this case, obviously." He continued to try and persuade her.

Again, she was silent as she contemplated the subject. She knew in her heart of hearts that Greg had an ulterior motive other than some kind of closure or the need to trip down memory lane. But for the life of her, she couldn't figure out what it might be. She hated the idea, as well, of giving up all her memories at this point. To leave her old words 'exposed' to his view before she had passed on from life. She had always known that someday he would inherit all of it, but she'd never really thought about what he might think about it. And there was a fear of him asking questions, or using that brilliant and cunning mind of his to pick apart the past and expose it for something other than what she herself remembered it to be.

The truth was? She didn't even remember what she wrote in those old baby books. The words she'd written, when she'd been a new mother, nervous and worried as her sick baby cried. She hadn't picked up, or looked through them in over thirty years now. Instead, she'd lovingly wrapped them in plastic and put them away in the trunks with the rest of Greg's baby things.

Suddenly, she was concerned that she'd written things she didn't want her son to see.

"Mrs. House? Blythe?" Wilson questioned on the other side of the phone.

Hadn't she always said, that there was nothing to worry about? Nothing she was 'ashamed' of? She cleared her throat and nodded to herself. "All... A-A-All right." She finally stuttered over her words. "All right. I'll... Yes."

"Do I need to come over to get the key?" He asked gently.

She shook her head and then realized that he couldn't see that. "No, you don't have to. There's a key you can pick up from our nephew. He lives in the neighborhood. I'll call ahead and let him know you are coming."

"We're flying out tomorrow." He told her quickly.

"I'll tell him to expect you tomorrow." She sighed and then gave him both the address of her house and her nephew's. "Let me know... what Greg... finds?" She asked awkwardly.

"I'll see what I can do. I know he loves you." Wilson said, knowing that was the only thing he could promise to, and was sure of.

She gave him a weak goodbye and they hung up.

A call to let Cuddy know that all arrangements were made, and then he felt exhausted even though he'd not even left the office. Rubbing his face, he decided, it was time to head back to House's apartment. He was calling it a day early, but he didn't think he could face a full day after all this. Besides, there were only a few hours left at this point.

He just couldn't really shake the bad feeling he had. He wondered if this was some kind of flight or fight response, and he was wanting to flee. Was he scared? Mmm, yes, that would be accurate. This whole thing was scaring the hell out of him.

It was frightening. If it was true, then that meant that he'd met on at least a handful of occasions a killer and never realized it. If it isn't true, then that just means that one crime can easily be blown up to encompass other crimes and despite being guilty of the one? He could be used for a scapegoat for others.

The call went smoothly with Cuddy, but she sounded as reluctant as he felt for this 'mission'. He wondered if there was a way he could get off this particular 'ride', but again, that was the fear talking.

He wasn't going to walk away. Not when House needed him. Not when House and Chase both needed him.

Wilson had gotten pretty good at avoiding any of the reporters that may or may not be lurking in the parking lot. For instance, instead of parking in his parking place with the neat little sign that said 'Reserved for Dr. James Wilson', he parked in the visitor's parking lot. He also took off his lab coat, wore a regular jacket, and used a backpack if he had to carry anything back and forth. He played the part of a visitor, just stopping in or leaving. So far? It was working.

As he drove back, he just hoped that Chase hadn't killed House yet.

--

Chase was standing.

True, he wasn't putting any weight on his right leg. But he was balancing on his left, and incredibly pleased with himself. He couldn't help it despite the fact that it was reminding him of a small child learning to toddle. He was also getting quickly tired, but he was standing!

Holding on to the dresser, he looked around and frowned. Well, he wasn't going to be walking, not with that brace on his other leg. But he would have loved to be able to go a few steps. So that was a bit of a disappointment. But he could start exercising his left leg more regularly, so by the time he got the brace off his right, his left would be strong enough to hold him. Well, that was his hope, at least.

If it hadn't been for his hip, he would have been already limping along in his rehab and making better progress. But his leg was starting to get really tired, and he was starting to feel a bit of pain in his lower back. It felt terribly weak and he suddenly knew it wouldn't hold him any longer.

Very carefully, he lowered himself back down into his chair and then wheeled himself back into the living room where House was still watching television. Then he moved himself to the couch, stretching out his left leg and wiggling his toes on each foot.

House had not spoken too much since Wilson had left, other than to bitch about commercials. But the entire situation had been bothering Chase since Tritter had arrived. Not to mention, he was still worried about Lee.

He felt he was in a surreal world where nothing was real anymore. It was a state of shock. He suspected that they were both in a state of denial. But what were they each denying? He wasn't too sure on that score.

"You know, it could be... coincidence." He suggested quietly.

"Doubtful." House muttered. "It isn't the first time we've dealt with a killer. Just usually, we turn them over to the police, and it's out of our lives and hands. This time? It is someone we know. You're just feeling betrayed." House shook his head. "So you don't want to believe it."

"And you don't, feel betrayed?" Chase asked cautiously. "You're not even going to question it?"

"I can't feel betrayed by someone I never felt cared for me in the first place." He told him, looking over at Chase a moment before turning back to the television. "I don't feel betrayed. I feel... vindicated."

Chase stared at him in surprise. What the hell was going on in House's mind? "What? Vindicated?"

"I'm vindicated. I was right, that there was something 'wrong' with him. From this point on? No one will act like there's something wrong with ME, because I avoided my father and hated him. There will no longer be pitying looks of and hints of 'try to understand them, you're being too hard on them'. No more of the pointed looks, and guilt trips, because I state I don't want to see them, and try to avoid them. No more putting the blame on ME for being a difficult child, teenager, and adult. Okay, I'll give them that. I was difficult. But still, it wasn't my 'fault'. And they will no longer look at him and think he was suuuuuch a great dad for putting up with me since I was such a little shit."

He smiled slightly, looking back over at Chase. "I'm fine with it. I just want to tie up a few loose ends, answer some questions, and then... I'm putting this all behind me." He swore.

"You honestly think you're going to be able to put this all behind you, after you get your questions answered, and it will all be fine?" Chase asked.

House pretended to think about it and then nodded. "Yes. He won't be able to, but I don't care." He shrugged. "As long as my questions are answered, that's all that matters to me."

Chase chanted the word 'denial' in his head as he pressed his lips together.

"And I'm not in denial." House said still watching the television, as though he had read his mind.

"I didn't say a word." Chase denied, but just out of spite said denial in his head at least one more time.

"You didn't have to. Your hair telegraphs your thoughts like a cheerleader with pompoms spelling it all out for the crowd." House told him with faint amusement.

"My hair does not." He almost laughed, but refused. He would not laugh, damn it. This was 'serious'.

"I'm not in denial. I merely no longer care. The dead are dead. Nothing to be done for them. The past is the past. Nothing can change it. For me? This is about knowing the truth. If he did it? He did it, and nothing will undo what he did. If he didn't do it? I don't care, because I still don't want to be around him. He's not part of my life anymore." House explained.

"Do you honestly believe he tried to kill you as a baby?" Chase asked, feeling odd asking that. It was a horrifying thought.

"I have no idea. But I'm going to try to find out. I knew a long time ago that he'd never wanted to have children. The 'one is enough' explanation was all well and good. But I never had children myself, and I never had to have a vasectomy to avoid it. He wanted to make DAMN sure I didn't happen again. I'm positive I was an accident. I don't care what my mom says." He swore.

He paused and then narrowed his eyes. "No. Wait... what if..." He raised his brows. "What if, she got pregnant with me on purpose? And didn't warn him? Hmmm there's a thought." He wondered.

"Could be." Chase admitted. "I'm just having a hard time swallowing all of this."

House tilted his head. "Why? Give me a three reasons, you find this hard to swallow?" He asked.

"What?" Chase blinked rapidly.

"Can't rise to the challenge?" House asked. "You don't swallow it, that's fine. But why? Why don't you swallow it? I mean, after all, you know him SO well!" He mocked. "Cameron met him, what? One time in four years? You ALL met him, one time in four years? Just pretty much a glimpse. But we all know you can tell how someone is just by meeting them for less than five minutes!"

"How many child abusers have we had come through the clinic sooooo worried about their hurt or sick child? Only for it to eventually come out that the reason their child is soooo hurt or sick, is because they did it? But, they acted soooo nice?" House sneered. "They cried tears and everything! Surely that meant that they didn't give Jane or Bobby those bruises, or broke his arm! Oh, it was just an accident! If the child hadn't whined about wanting that candy, then daddy wouldn't have grabbed him quite so hard or lost control and the spanking became a beating! It's the kid's fault! Not the parents!"

"Remember that woman that was killing her husband by dosing his corn flakes with gold sodium thiomalate? They had suuuuuch a happy and loving marriage. He never even realized there WAS a problem. He never suspected his loving wife, wanted him DEAD! Remember the bet I had with Cameron? I. Won." House used his finger to poke the armrest of his recliner.

"They were here, for what? Less than an hour the last visit? Long enough to show up in my office, and for us to eat a meal in the cafeteria. Cameron spoke with them for five minutes, and the rest of you, just got a glance at them through the window! Now, how is it, that you can't swallow it?" House's voice was raising.

"Did you have to grow up with him? Did you have to deal with sleeping in the yard, because you were late getting home? Or being shoved in an ice bath for bad behavior? How about getting the hide torn off your ass by a belt if you did something wrong? How about the mental and emotional put-downs, telling you that you'll never amount to anything because you have no 'discipline' or 'common sense'? Being told that every decision you ever made was a wrong one because it isn't what he would have chosen? Being told you were making friends with the wrong sort because they were black, or-or whatever nationality we were around at the time? Never mind that you're in THEIR country, and the only other people around are other children of other Marines who are bullies in their own right!"

Chase held his breath, forcing himself to not bite back. Not to speak at all. Not to yell or stop his tirade. House needed this, and Chase knew it. Not that it made it easier, because when someone else is yelling and angry, it was infectious. So he kept telling himself that House was not yelling at him. He was yelling... at his dad.

"Forced to go to church when you don't even believe the crap that is falling out of the pastor's mouth. Forced to give lip service to things that you disagree with. Told that the only ones you can trust are the ones he picks out for you to 'play with', and there's never anyone that he actually picks out. No friends to come over and play. Told to stay in the yard. Never go out. Never talk to anyone. What happens in the house stays in the house." He gestured wildly. "And that was a big one. Trust. No. One. Talk to no one. Believe no one but him and mom. And him OVER mom."

"Anyone 'different' from us is to be hated, especially if they are black, gay, or asian. Be polite, never tell them what you're really thinking, but never trust them. They're out to 'take over'. They have an agenda! So, just stay away from them!" House bit out in disgust.

"It isn't just the racists that yell out slurs that are the problem. No, there's a deeper problem. The racists that smile and are nice to others in public, and then go home and refer to them as niggers and gooks. And then when you call them on it, they say, 'oh but I'm not racist'." He scoffed.

"He had a superior officer once that was black, and he would yes sir and no sir him all day long? And then come home and bitch about how that 'nigger' was of a higher rank than him, and how unfair it was! And then he'd tell me, be careful, they'll take your job! They'll steal your crap! Can't trust them! And then, as if on cue, he would still deny being a racist! He'd say, it isn't racism if it is true. It's just 'how they are'. But then he'd tell me, be polite, but stay away from them! They'll just get you in trouble!"

"Of course? Guess what happens when I'm told 'not' to do something?" He smirked evilly, but then it faded slowly. "My father would get so damn pissed off, he'd lock me in the house, meet my friends at the door and tell them I was grounded."

"He would answer the phone before I could, and tell them I couldn't talk, or that I didn't want to talk." He sneered.

"It was all about control. He wanted me to go into the military, like he did. I refused. Did he pay for my schooling? Of course not. But I'm smart, and I still managed just fine. But he hated me for it, resented that I got 'away'. And he never let me forget it. But every single damn point? Every single punishment, admonishment, berating insult was crouched in the terms of 'for my own good'. And if anyone asked? He could paint the perfect picture of the rebellious child that he was merely showing 'tough love' to! He is smart, Chase. Very smart. So very careful. He knows exactly how to say things, so that people don't realize what he really did. Everyone would believe him, over me. Always. So if I feel a bit vindicated? I am entitled!"

"So, please, Chase? Tell me how on Earth can you tell me you don't swallow it?" He demanded.

"There were times, I thought he was going to kill ME." He gave Chase a serious and almost pleading look for understanding. "How can I not believe he'd do it to someone else?"

Chase scratched his jaw, trying to think. How can he not believe that his father would do it to someone else? Or, maybe, it somehow made House feel better to believe his father would do it to someone else. Then, at least, it wasn't just something 'wrong' with him. His father was the one that was wrong. Not that there was actually anything 'wrong' with Greg House to begin with, but if he was his dad's only victim, he'd have that underlying feel that there was.

"I guess, I just don't want to believe it, because... it's terrifying to think that someone so close could do something like this. He could have literally killed you." Chase said in dawning horror.

"Lucky for me, and our future dog, he didn't." House told him.

There was a knock, and then the jingle of keys. "He's learning!" House stated as Wilson let himself in despite knocking first. "Wilson, when do you leave?" He asked.

Chase was still sitting on the couch trying to take in everything House told him so far. His father had been very... careful. Controlled. Calculating. Manipulative.

"Tomorrow. Everyone agreed to go. Cuddy is not happy, but she's letting it slide. And your mother supplied me with a way to get the key. FBI has already searched the house, but your stuff should still be there." Wilson reported. "We'll be back on Monday."

House was just opening his mouth to speak again when his phone rang. He frowned, looking at the number, but refused to answer it. Letting the answering machine catch it as he often did.

"Y'all are on my shitlist, jest lettin' ya know! Who done called the fuzz on me?" They heard Lee's voice on the machine and House was diving for the phone.

"Uncle Lee?" House answered quickly as the machine beeped.

Chase couldn't hear what was being said by Lee anymore, but House was slowly starting to glare in Wilson's direction. "I swear, it wasn't me. But I have a feeling, I know who it was. Are you all right?" He asked.

There was several mmhmms from House before he finally said. "All right. Well... Okay. Yes. I know. I will. Yes." He looked at the phone for a few seconds and then turned on Wilson. "YOU MISTER are in SO much TWOUBLE!" He pointed.

"I was... worried!" Wilson held his hands up in surrender. "Is he all right?"

"He's fine. He says he nearly had a heart attack when the police 'busted' him in his motel room. But he's fine. They even gave him a free ride back to the home, so that he'd get there all nice and safe." House paused and then snorted. "Good job. You're learning, Grasshopper." He told Wilson.

"So you're not... really mad?" Wilson squinted.

"No, but he is!" House chuckled, shaking his head. "You might get a turd special delivery by mail, I dunno. Be careful accepting any packages in the near future!"

"I think I should start something to eat." Wilson said, rolling his sleeves up before turning toward the kitchen, chuckling to himself as he walked.

Chase lowered his voice as the other man went into the kitchen. "We've really got to get him a girlfriend." He stated.

"Stat." House agreed, raising his brows. "But one of our choosing this time."

"I have an idea." Chase said quietly, making sure his voice wasn't carrying beyond House. "Since he's a mommy-daddy type, he needs a daddy-mommy type to balance him out."

"And who would that be, Padawan?" House asked, gathering up his remote, the phone, and a book that he'd had on his lap.

"Isn't it obvious?" Chase smiled slowly.

"Uh. No." House gave him a silly look. "Otherwise, I'd know what the hell you're talking about!"

"Cuddy. She's a daddy-mommy. He's a mommy-daddy. Both of them enablers in their own way! Put them together, and..."

"Future baby-Wilsons!" House quietly cheered. "The next generation of enablers! They had dinner once, and he failed the audition, but I think with a proper script and director..."

House stood up slowly after folding his chair up, and then hobbled the few steps over to the couch, sitting down next to Chase. "Come here." House said, putting his arm around Chase's shoulder. They sat close together, and watched television, as Wilson made comforting noises while cooking in the kitchen.

This was what it felt like to have a real family. It was a weird family, but it was family. 


	78. Chapter 78

The lawyer looked at his client and frowned. So far, nothing had been easy with this man. Not that it was a particularly easy case, but he was so closed mouth that he was despairing of coming up with a good defense for him before this finally hit court again. There had been a couple of times in recent days when he'd considered quitting!

"You know they are investigating the possibility of you having allegedly committing murders, right?" He asked again for the second time that day. "Are they going to find anything?" He'd also asked that before as well.

John House leaned back in his seat and stared back at the lawyer, giving away nothing in his expression other than slight irritation and a hint of sadness.

"You're not helping your case." The lawyer told him bluntly, slapping a hand down on the table. "I can't help you, if you don't help me!"

"I'm going to prison. Doesn't matter what I tell you. They'll keep trumping up charges until that prick Tritter can get all the fame he can stand." John sneered in his direction before looking away. Dejected and defeated.

"I'm looking into ways of seeing if we can prove harassment." The lawyer said eagerly, glad to latch on to something, anything, at this point. "But regardless, I need you to talk to me about these past charges as well as the current, and possible future ones! I was going to try to have the attempted murder charge dropped and keep aggravated assault. But with them investigating the potential for other murders? I'm not sure that is going to go through. You probably should have taken the plea bargain when it was offered. Perhaps then? He would have stopped probing and we could be on our way to settling this mess."

"I know what I should have done. It's too late now. They took it off the table." John bitched. "Besides, didn't make any real difference either way. I'm about seventy years old. You think I'll be getting out before I die either way?" He asked giving him an irritated look. "How long do you think I really have left?" He asked.

"Then why did you even bother to plead not guilty if you think it is so hopeless?" The lawyer asked, very frustrated. If the defendant felt doomed, he was doomed.

"Principal and because I'm not guilty. Or rather, I am, but..." He insisted. "It was... a moment of rage! I didn't know what I was doing. I was out of control, and I know it. And I'm sorry! I was just so goddamn mad. My son had just told me he didn't want to have anything more to do with me, ever again. I gave everything I had to raise that boy, and that was the thanks I got. I was out of my mind. And yes, I deserve punishment! But? Attempted murder? Aggravated assault? I... I just want what time I have left with my wife. What I did was stupid and unthinkable. But if I go to prison? They might as well just... everything is over."

"Then you need to talk to the psychologists I keep trying to get you to talk to!" The lawyer shook his hands at him in frustration. "Crime of passion is a good defense, sure, but not without expert testimony to back it up. And they won't back you up, unless they've interviewed you."

"And what's to stop them from lying about me?" John asked with a look of distaste as well as distrust. "From start to finish, this has been a farce! Everyone keeps exaggerating and lying and just... making me the bad guy. I screwed up, but they are going the extra mile. How can I possibly believe they mean to 'help' me?"

"Do you disbelieve that I'm here to defend you?" The lawyer asked earnestly. His glasses reflected the overhead lights causing a glare on his side that made it uncomfortable. He should have gotten the more expensive glasses, but he was still making a name for himself, and was still in the mind-set of cutting corners in expenses. He was a damn good lawyer, and this case was the one that would push him over the top and win him the spot he wanted with the firm he belonged to.

John gave him a critical look. "I believe you get paid to do what you get paid to do." He eventually offered in a stiff and brittle voice. "But I also figure you're hoping for something good to come out of this for you. If you lose, that won't happen."

"Well, you're paying me to defend you, so I'm defending you. And you're right. If I lose this case? I don't get out of it what I want for myself. So it is in my best interest to win! But I need more to work with. And you've been like squeezing blood from a turnip so far." The man rubbed his neck as he tilted his head back, looking toward the ceiling.

Donald Redding had been trying for days now to get John House to open up to him and let him help. But so far, John House didn't trust anyone. He had even told Redding that he was being set up by everyone. But then, that was a common sentiment among his clients. Usually, they were lying, but sometimes there was some truth to it. But ideally, it was supposed to be 'innocent until proven guilty'.

He'd done a pretty good job getting a deal set up, in his opinion. Only for his client to hem and haw about until finally it was too late. And so far, he wasn't too sure how he was going to get them through this. He wanted to shake the man at times.

Donald sighed and flipped through his folder. "You reportedly, in your youth caused the miscarriage of your child by a girlfriend?" He sounded tired and idly looked up at John to see if he was even paying attention. It wasn't the first time he'd asked this. Hell, it wasn't the first time he'd asked this today!

"That was dropped." John told him with a grimace. It was the first time he'd offered anything more than more allegations of harassment and trumping up charges. But he seemed to be getting the idea that he had to talk about this, whether he wanted to or not. "And it was, damn... what? At least fifty years ago? How can that have any bearing on anything?"

"It doesn't. But I need to be ready for anything. I have to know about you, the man. John House. I know you're a private person? But you're so protective of that privacy, that they can use that against you. Please, work with me." He was practically begging him at this point.

John grumbled, looking down and then finally with a heavy sigh looked back up. Grim determination on his face. "She and I had been fighting that night. I hadn't seen her in about a couple of months. She kept putting me off, putting me off. Hell, I figured we were already broken up except for the final words being said. Then she showed up at the farm that night, yelling and screeching for all to hear. I wasn't even sure what she was going on about at first. Thought she was drunk. Actually, pretty damn sure she was. I'd had a couple of beers myself earlier, sitting on the porch with my dad."

Pausing, he wiped a hand down his face and sighed again, looking almost sad as he spoke again. "I came off the porch and asked what the hell her problem was. She told me that she was pregnant. Not just a little pregnant, but very pregnant. About seven or eight months, and she'd not even told me. She was showing by this point, and I guess you could say she was a bit of a big boned gal. So I hadn't really noticed anything before she started avoiding me. But there she was, hollering and screaming at me for knocking her up. Yelling about how her dad was pissed off, and angry at her and wanting to kick her out."

"She started shoving me. Calling me names. Telling me I better marry her, and quick, and better give the baby my last name." He paused, grimacing. "By then, my dad was off the porch and yelling too. There I was, half drunk, had this coming out of nowhere. My dad yelling at me, my girl who I hadn't even seen in two months yelling at me... She shoved me again and again over and over again, and finally I reared back and... punched her." He said the last two words with a wince. "I don't really remember anything that happened after pulling back my fist. It's all just a blur and a haze. Kind of like what I had with Greg. I don't remember what all happened during that either. Just what you showed me on the tape? I don't remember any of it!"

"Next thing I remember is my dad hauling me to the side and punching the snot out of ME! I couldn't move, and lay on the ground as both he and Jane disappeared. Found out later that he took her into town. She'd lost the baby. Sheriff came out, read my the riot act. Arrested me, threw me in a jail cell. And he was none to gentle with it. Couldn't move for two days, and then suddenly, I was let out. She'd dropped charges, I guess. Sheriff told me to beat feet." He finished. "So I did. Went into the city, signed up, shipped out to California."

Donald made notes, raising his brows and hming in places as he wrote in the chicken scratch that only he and his assistant could read. He might be able to make a case of past rages, where he acted as such and then regretted it later. Heat of passion. Provocation. He put question marks beside that.

"It was listed as a miscarriage, but considering the age of the fetus, it would technically be a premature birth." Redding told John.

John nodded, frowning and closing his eyes. "A son. If I hadn't... I would have had another son. I still wouldn't have married her. But I would have provided for the boy. I can't tell you how much regret I've had over the years about that. There were times I thought about contacting her, telling her I was sorry. Was afraid I'd make it worse. Hell, not even sure what's happened to her since." He rubbed his face.

"She died ten years ago, cancer." The lawyer reported to him. "We don't have to worry about her being called as a witness."

"This brings us to the next stop in your past record. You were arrested on assault and battery charges, as well as robbery in California?" He raised his brows and looked over at him, wondering how he would explain this part in his history.

John's eyes fluttered shut and groaned.

"I'm aware the charges were once more dropped, but at least one of the 'victims' is still alive and according to a telephone interview said it was because of the threat to reveal his sexuality to others." Redding tapped his pencil against his paper and blew a gust of air out of his lips. "Were they targeted because they were gay?" He asked.

John grimaced and then shook his head. "I didn't... Look, I know it was wrong. The guys I was hanging out with at the time? You ever heard of peer pressure? Well, I fell in with the wrong crowd and was too stupid to realize what I was getting into until it was too late. I wasn't even really aware of why they were chosen until later. I was just told they were 'easy targets' that wouldn't fight too much. It was stupid, and cruel, and I should have been punished for it. It took me a while to realize that they weren't the kind of people I needed or should even know."

The lawyer gave him a pained look and a small shake of his head, but wrote his notes all the same.

"If there was any threats, it wasn't me that made them." John offered after a moment. "After all, I wasn't the only one that was busted. I just waited in the alley, and jumped when they gave the word. Not that it was right." He added the last part quickly.

"Once I realized that I was going down a road that I shouldn't and didn't really want to be going down? I got rid of those friends, and stayed far far away. And Blythe? She helped set me right too. That woman was a goddess. Still is." He said faintly. "Helped me see the right of it from the wrong of it."

"And yet? Your neighbors called on three separate occasions, in different locations, the police? Because you'd laid hands on her?" The lawyer stated, giving him a slightly disbelieving look.

John's face darkened as he looked at Redding. His lips pressed together before he finally gave a sharp nod. "She and I, we were pretty newly married. And any new marriage is a rough start. We had some mighty throw-downs between us. She was a bit wilder in those days. You wouldn't know it to look at her now. But she started out with a sharp tongue. Tamed down though after Greg came into our lives. But yeah, we had our fights. And they got out of hand. And as you can see? Those charges were dropped as well." He used his finger to tap the desk, to make his point. "She and I have been married for... hell! Forever now!"

Redding had his own opinions, but he kept them to himself. His job was to defend John House to the best of his ability. He took pride in his job to do that. There were sometimes problems with the generation gap, and he knew that this would be part of it. But he was also pretty sure he could keep the past records out of the trial.

"Now, I have some... more difficult questions." Redding said it as kindly as possible. He rubbed the top of his balding head, feeling the sweat building there. He swept his fingers over the thin strands, pushing them over in a desperate attempt to hide the spot that was growing every time he looked in the mirror. Or so it seemed some days. His brown suit felt tight and uncomfortable, and he could feel a tension headache coming on.

"I figured as much. They've managed to gather a whole bunch of allegations. Even got Blythe to agree to back some of them up." He pressed his lips together. "God love her, but I do understand the reason for it. Can't blame her for it. Jail isn't no place for a gentle soul like her."

Donald nodded, almost distracted as he read down his notes he'd made earlier in the day. "Did you, in fact, force your son into a tub of ice water?" He asked.

The silence that greeted that statement didn't take Redding by much surprise. It had been repeated by too many, and was even recorded in video tape testimony from a couple of his relatives. His Uncle and sister. It was also collaborated by his wife, which pretty much made the claim solid.

He looked up at John, slowly tapping his pencil on the paper, waiting for the explanation.

"When I was a kid, and I had my head up my ass? My dad would take me by the nape of the neck and dunk my head under cold water, to get my attention. We didn't have a trough on base. I just... figured... it worked for me?" John looked away with a sigh. "I only did it a few times, but since it didn't work for him... I didn't do it from that point on because there was no point. But they make it sound like I did it throughout his childhood. I think they are exaggerating a bit. It was just that it was so memorable, it sticks out in their minds."

He wrote his notes out and made an additional note to try and get that thrown out of court. He had some wiggle room there. But he would have to talk to the DA again.

"And the nights out in the yard?" He asked, rubbing under his nose and sniffing as he looked back up at John.

John scratched his eyebrow and sighed. "It wasn't like it was the middle of winter, or that we were in the middle of the wilderness. We also weren't in the heart of the city where someone could grab him easily. We were on base. I had told him over and over again, to be home on time. I was tired of his excuses, and I even warned him that if he was late again, he was sleeping outside. I worked hard every day, and I was tired of holding everything up for him to lollygag around. It disrupted everything, and... I thought, perhaps a time or two out there? He'd get it through his thick head. I checked on him through the night. It wasn't too unlike camping in the yard. Lots of kids do that!"

"Did he learn from it?" He asked John, raising both brows. He wasn't sure what to think about it, at the moment. The way John described it wasn't excessively cruel, just different. But then, his clients usually lied. So who could tell at the moment? But? Innocent until proven guilty!

"I think he did. Because he started getting in on time. If he was late? I still went through with it, because you have to be consistent. Otherwise? No kind of discipline works." John held out his hands, willing him to understand.

"Is there any point in referencing the spankings with the belt?" Redding asked, making notations as he spoke before looking back up at John.

"Not really, because that was the way you did things back then. I was whipped. Hell, all the other fathers I knew spanked their kids too. You think the expression 'taken around the woodshed' was just coined out of fiction? Back then, you disciplined your kids. Nowadays? They have a different standard. Which is better? I can't say. But back then? We went with what we knew." John rubbed a hand down his face and grimaced. "By today's standards? Yes. I was a child abuser. Back then? I was considered a good father doing what was necessary with a child that loved to buck authority, and was rebellious. I can't change the past, but what I did? I did because I cared and didn't know any other way! I wanted him to avoid all the mistakes that I made."

Redding made a notation to play on the generation gap and the absence of knowledge of today's psychology back then. Psychology was still young and not as informed, and the general public wasn't aware of the impacts certain traditions made. If it came up, he could make a pretty good case in that direction. He scratched behind his ear.

"Now, I come to the next point in your record. You appeared before a court-martial while in Vietnam. You pled guilty, according to the records, and yet received no punishment other than you were sent home. Can you shed some light on that?" This was the real meat. The part where it really started to look bad for his client. The part that was playing into Tritter's investigation and had stirred the anthill.

John closed his eyes, and looked pained. He took his hands and covered his face, appearing to hold his breath before letting it out slowly. "I never told Blythe, because I was... so ashamed of that. Despite everything that led up to it, to that act? I was still ashamed of it. That night has haunted me ever since. Years later, their faces are still imprinted in my mind." He swore.

"Tell me about it." Redding prompted quietly. "What happened?"

John swallowed hard, his eyes taking on a near watery look as he looked away. He rubbed a hand over his nose down to his jaw and took a shaky breath. "Not sure where to start really. I'd been there a long time by then. Felt it was my duty to stay as long as possible, try to help out. When they say war is hell, they don't know the half of it. And that war was..." He closed his eyes and grimaced.

"You didn't know who your allies were, or who your enemies might be. The only ones you could really count on, were the people that looked like you. You would see smiling faces, welcoming you, only for them to blow you up as soon as you let your guard down. It wasn't just adult men either. It was men, women, and children. That is what shocked us the most. The children that would..." He broke off and didn't seem able to go on for a moment.

"We were specifically told in some instances..." He broke off and blinked back some tears. "Mai Lai, is the best example of what we were told to do. Well, that was the army, but we were all in that war 'together'. It reflected on all of us. American soldiers were told that there were Viet Cong in the village. The soldiers were told to destroy the village. To kill everyone in it, because if they were there, they were supporting the Viet Cong. Five hundred people from the age of one, to eighty-two were killed. But..." He bit his lip. "The Viet Cong did not wear uniforms like the North did. You couldn't tell who was in, and who was out. I wasn't part of it, thank God. I don't think I could have lived with myself, if I had been."

"There were insurgents. They played dirty, and they were like trying to fight smoke. Or a ghost."

He took a deep breath and let it out again. He wiped his eye again and then cleared his throat. "The kids in question, were probably around fifteen. I'm not even sure now. Sometimes, I think they were older. But then sometimes, in my nightmares, they look younger. I know to read it on the paper, probably sounds like it was a small child. But these were teenagers. Still, they were kids. I know that." He admitted quietly.

"We'd seen them earlier." He continued after a few minutes. He swallowed, and didn't seem to know how to go on until he finally cleared his throat and put his hands on the table as though to prepare himself for more. "We'd seen them around earlier, hanging out and laughing. Trying to pal around, bum a cigarette... not too unusual." He rubbed his eyes and put his hand back on the table. Bracing himself. "A bomb went off not long after, and they were no where to be seen."

"We lost several of our men, our supplies were wrecked, and there were many more wounded." He explained.

"Immediately, there was... we caught up with them, not too far. It was a stroke of luck that we had. Normally, they are gone and you have no hope in hell of finding them. They had tunnels and knew that jungle in ways we never could! It was only because one of them had injured himself trying to get away that we caught them."

"We dragged them back, and questioned them. Couldn't get a straight answer out of them. They also fought back, got in a few lucky shots while they fought. That's why it is reported that one was beaten. It was decided, they were Viet Cong and..." He shook his head slowly. "It was a decision that was made in that moment, in anger, and was supported by all that was there at the time. They were Viet Cong, and they had killed our men."

"I do not shirk my responsibility. I did pull the trigger, on both of them. When it was time to investigate? I pled guilty. I felt guilty. I still do." He looked down. "Others spoke on my behalf, and... it was decided that I would be sent home, and despite the fact that I felt I was guilty. I was later grateful, of course. Because I love my wife and son, and I wouldn't have wanted to miss those years with them. Not to mention, my life was in the Marines. I'm grateful, to this day, that they made the decisions they did. But it still doesn't take away... anything really."

"All I can add, is that, it was war. They killed ours. We killed theirs." He said sounding almost helpless in the face of the memories. He frowned looking away.

Redding frowned with him, writing down his notes. He could definitely work with this, and in fact could probably have it thrown out either way. But if they insisted on bringing it in at any time in the future? He could definitely work with the angle here. That the record misrepresented the actual events.

"I understand." He said, trying not to commit one way or the other, but gave him a sympathetic look regardless. "I'm sorry for bringing up painful memories, but this is important."

John nodded, still blinking rapidly and clearing his throat before finally bringing himself back together.

"I have a list of names, here... I want you to look at them, and tell me if any of them seem familiar to you?" Redding held out a sheet of paper for the older man, and watched his face as he took it.

John showed no instant recognition as he studied the names on each sheet of paper. He used his finger to trace down them, mumbling some of the names as he came across them. "I recognize this one? Seito? He was a friend of Greg's when we were in Japan. A bit rambunctious. I wasn't aware he'd died though!" He said in surprise. "I mean, I knew he lived dangerously... but... do they really think I killed him?"

"They're investigating it." Redding told him in an even tone, still watching him carefully. "You say he lived dangerously? How do you mean?" He asked, readying his pencil once more.

"Well, I hate to speak bad of the kid. I think at the heart of it, he was a good boy. It's just that, well, he liked to walk on the wild side. He'd been picked up for what we would call shoplifting a few times. Got into a few fights. Think he even skipped school on occasion. I know he was the cause of Greg skipping a few times. Hung out with a rough crowd. Not quite what I would call a 'gang', but, well... pretty close to it. I was worried about him getting Greg into trouble." He shook his head. "But I didn't realize he'd met a bad end!" He looked up at Redding.

"You... believe me? Don't you?" John asked him cautiously, giving him a worried look.

"Innocent until proven guilty, Mr. House. Unless I have evidence to the contrary? I take what you tell me to be the truth." He promised. Though, he wasn't naive enough to believe that he was never lied to. His clients always lied to him on some issue. But he was having a hard time reading John House. He seemed sincere. He owned up to his mistakes so far, to a point. Expressed regret and shame. He would just plow ahead on what he had so far.

John nodded quietly, though he didn't look too convinced.

"Do you recognize any other names?" Redding gently prodded.

John gave a small shake of his head. "Yes, and no. I'm just not sure. Most of this was a long time ago. I think they were basically people in whatever local town we were stationed near. I think I recognize Marcus Jones' name? But it sounds like a real common name? Think he might have been another of Greg's friends. He always gravitated toward the rebellious ones. He, thought they were cool." He gave him a weak smile. "You know how it is? Smoking cigarettes, hanging out, acting too cool for school, giving the local cops a run for their money? Not so different from today, really. But I couldn't even tell you what he really looked like. Just that he was..." He sighed and looked uncomfortable. "Well, an annoyance. 'Where are you going?' and then Greg would answer. 'To Marcus' house!' and try to leave without so much as permission. It was a school night, he had homework. It was a daily fight. Most the time when Marcus came over? I was on duty." He admitted. "Blythe would let Greg go with him, but she hated to fight the boy. Didn't have the same stamina I had. If you weren't firm, he'd run roughshod over you. He still does that."

"So you just, vaguely remember him, and mostly just remember the arguments you had with your son over the boy?" Redding asked as he wrote his notes. "So you would say that both Seito and Marcus' lifestyles probably led to their untimely deaths?"

John hesitated a moment and then nodded. "I guess so. I didn't even know they had passed away till you showed me these. If Greg has seen these though?" He looked heavenward muttering 'god help me'. "He'll be..." He sighed, frowning.

"Is there anything you haven't told me?" Donald asked, giving him a very serious look. "Are they going to find anything in their investigation? Anything else we should be prepared for?"

John slowly shook his head. "Nothing I can think of." He sighed deeply, looking like he'd been put through the wringer.

Redding pursed his lips and then nodded to himself. "I'm going to look some things up, but I think I can have most of the past things thrown out as irrelevant." He stood up and offered his hand to John who took it, looking grim.

"Anything you can do, I will appreciate." He told the other man, shaking his head to himself.

Redding gestured for the guards, and was led out while John was taken back to his cell. Redding had a full afternoon and a lot of phone calls to make, while John had to come to terms with his situation, and that stubbornness wasn't going to solve anything.

He looked back toward the door one last time and told himself, he had a good start to a defense for now.

--

John sat down on his thin bed and looked down at his hands, hanging between his knees. To anyone looking in, he was the picture of a broken man. Old. Innocent. Just a victim of circumstance and his own bad temper.

He let out a huge sigh, and closed his eyes. He didn't show anything on his face, other than tiredness.

Mentally though? Mentally, he was at peace. He'd had a long time to smooth out the corners of each incident. To rationalize them, make them sound, solid. To convince himself. He'd only ever done what was necessary. For everyone else, for his family... It had been necessary.

He could easily pass any lie detector test. Though he searched his memory for anything else that could have given him away as anything other than he'd presented himself. He was sure that any 'evidence' could not be found.

John had kept track over the years of those he'd served with in the military. Those that had been there on the day of court. None were left alive. A lot of them had never made it out of Vietnam, and age and disease had taken the rest. His ex was dead, and Blythe would be counted on to downplay anything brought forth about their marriage and the treatment of their son.

As for anything else? He was always careful. They could search, but they wouldn't find anything. He was sure of it!

And honestly? He didn't feel he'd done anything really wrong. They had been in the wrong! Not. Him. He'd done only what was necessary. What was needed! What he and his family needed.

No. The only thing he really had to worry about? Was convincing them he hadn't meant to hurt Greg. That he'd flown into a rage, and had been impaired. To his way of thinking, it was true. He was usually in more control than that! He was appalled at himself, for his actions.

It had been sloppy. And he wasn't usually sloppy. Only when he was truly overcome with anger! Then he got sloppy, like he had with Jane. He supposed though, after fifty years, he was due for a slip up. Especially, with the boy. He'd always pushed and pushed and pushed. If he had just done what he was told, none of this would have happened to begin with. But Greg always had to make things difficult. Always. It was such a disappointment.

There was a time when he'd hoped that he and Greg would be the best of friends. But it had never happened. They were just too different and too alike, and all in the wrong ways.

With another frown, he shifted to the side and lay down. A nap about now was needed. He was sure he'd have to see the psychologist again sometime today. He needed to be well rested and prepared.

--

Wilson wondered when he'd actually lost his mind. How on Earth had this ever seemed like a good idea? It seemed like it would be a good idea, at the time, sure! But he was sure a lot of things did. Bombs probably seemed like a good idea at the time! But not so much at the moment.

He felt like he was at the steering wheel of a rolling bomb.

The idea had simply been, he would drive them to the airport, and he'd park his car in long term parking. This way, they all got there on time and it was just 'better' all the way around economically.

But, they were almost late to begin with because Cameron's alarm clock had failed in the middle of the night due to a power outage in her building. Reportedly caused by someone wrecking one of the boxes outside. She'd forgone the shower, and had dressed quickly when Wilson showed up and started hammering on the door asking where she was. The other two by then were already in his car. Having arrived on time. He should have taken it as an omen!

Foreman had made subtle complaints since they'd started out. About Cameron making them late. The fact that he'd had a weekend of relaxation originally planned. That he refused to carry Turner's luggage which seemed to be more than one would think a person would need for two days. That this was an idiotic idea...

He was sitting in the front seat beside Wilson, and Wilson was doing his best to ignore him. Turner and Cameron were sitting in the backseat where she was slowly losing her temper with Foreman until finally she yelled. "All right, I get it. I was late. I'm sorry. I didn't tell them to beat up the fuse box thing! Get over it and move on! We're not late YET!"

The next argument of course was over music. Wilson had it turned to what these days was considered 'classic rock'. Foreman wanted to listen to jazz. Cameron pop and Turner announced that he was a fan of country music.

"No way. You're too anal retentive." Foreman accused. "You have to be a classical music fan. No way you like country."

"I. Like. Country." Turner told him slowly, as though to a particularly slow and dim-witted child.

"You're just trying to make sure..." Foreman still protested, and Wilson became aware that Foreman was just arguing with Turner to argue. Much like House sometimes did. And Turner was returning the favor. So he opted to stay out of it, and turned to the news. They never noticed.

"If you go by your logic, then why aren't you advocating for Hip Hop or Rap?" Turner asked, arms crossed over his chest.

That launched them into a rather heated argument about stereotypes which, both sides still agreed with each other, but for some reason despite the fact they agreed? They were still arguing with each other. Wilson furrowed his brow as he looked over at them. How did they do that? He decided he didn't really want to know as he let them out with their bags, and then went to park the car.

When he returned he walked inside just in time to see the three being questioned and searched. He wondered how reasonable it was for him to leave them all there and go back to the hotel?

"All ready?" Wilson sighed helplessly, deciding to be responsible instead. "Can't you three behave for FIVE MINUTES before airport security is called?"

"We weren't doing anything." Turner protested as he stood still for the man scanning him and searching through his pockets.

Foreman was protesting as well, but was instructed to put his hands behind his head. Cameron just seemed in shock as she was also patted down. They opened her luggage and started pawing through things.

Wilson next found himself being examined. "Why are we being detained?" He asked, as politely as he could as the man patted up and down his leg. "Yarghhh..." He gave a high-pitch squeak as the man patted a bit too high.

The man in charge tried to be friendly. "We watch for suspicious behavior..." He explained as he started going through Wilson's luggage next.

"How were we suspicious?" Foreman demanded, eyes narrowed.

Turner looked up at him and blinked. "It's because I'm black, isn't it?"

Foreman stared at him a moment and then gave a startled chuckle. "He and I are twins, can't ya tell? Yeahhhh, don't worry bro, it's just another case of the Man keeping us down." He played into it, raising a brow at the people now going through his own things.

Turner muttered. "I imagine it was the fact that we were still arguing."

"What is this?" One of the 'Behavior Screeners' asked as he dug into one of Turner's bags.

"Medical equipment." Turner answered in a bored tone. "You stick that piece into an orifice, turn the light on and then guide it through. There's a camera on the other end, and then the video shows up on the monitor embedded into the lid here."

The woman didn't look like she believed him. He sighed. "You're new at your job, aren't you"

"This is called a portable endoscope. And we use it in procedures to get a look inside." Turner said in what could best be called the 'professor lecturing' voice. "It is designed to comply with all airline 'carry on' baggage requirements. Fifteen inch flat panel display. Integrated image storage on 128M USB memory stick. Snap-on probes. Perfect for ear, nose, and throat work... and it has an Endoscope Adapter for other commercial probes."

Wilson felt like he was starting to drool. He wanted one! Sure the hospital one was fine, but it would be kind of cool to own one! A medical 'toy'!

"Do you want me to demonstrate?" Turner asked her.

She gave her supervisor an uncertain look. Two of them shook their head, but the others nodded. He finally gave a curt shake of his head, and Turner shrugged as he reached forward and made sure everything was put to rights once more before shutting and clipping the case closed. Wilson was scowling at Turner, wondering where the HELL he had gotten it.

The supervisor waved away the others. "Sorry for the delay, you shouldn't miss your flight. We have to check out all suspicious behavior and frankly most of my staff have never seen equipment like that."

"I can't imagine that a bomb would be this expensive. It would be a waste of money." Turner muttered to Foreman.

Foreman meanwhile was coveting the machine with Wilson.

"Back off mongrels. It's mine." Turner clutched the case to his chest.

Wilson shook his head and then smiled at the Supervisor. "Thank you, we'll just... be getting out of your hair now." He shook the man's hand and then feeling like he was herding cats, he tried to get the other three to the counter, get their tickets, and onto the plane.

But then, when they got to the ticket counter, Turner hung back and Wilson had to go 'get' him again. "What is taking you so long?" He demanded.

"Nothing." Turner said quietly.

It wasn't until they were actually boarding and showing their tickets that Wilson found out what Turner had been up to. That was when he saw Cameron and Turner being led to the first class section.

"Whoa, whoa, wait? What?" Foreman was disgruntled and Wilson was confused.

Turner smiled and waved as he disappeared.

"That little bastard." Wilson sighed. "He upgraded them." He pouted to himself as he sat down. Foreman scowled for half the trip. At least, until he turned to Wilson and asked, "Why the hell did he bring an endoscope with him?"

For the rest of the trip, they pondered that question.

--

It wasn't until they had rented a vehicle and were on their way again that Wilson finally got the chance to ask Turner about the endoscope. All of them were tired from the long flight, but so far no one had descended into snapping at each other. But he figured it was just a matter of time.

"Does it matter?" Turner asked, meeting Wilson's eyes in the rear view mirror. Cameron had fallen asleep, her head against the window while Foreman just silently listened to them talk.

"You brought a very expensive piece of equipment with you from New Jersey to Kansas." Wilson watched traffic, but occasionally his eyes would flick over to watch Turner for a second in the mirror.

"Never know, might be useful. And, it's mine." Turner pointed out in a sullen tone. "It isn't like it belongs to the hospital."

"It just seems an odd thing to bring." Wilson insisted.

"We brought Foreman. He's odd." Turner told him with a straight face.

Foreman scoffed, but otherwise remained quiet.

Wilson met his eyes in the mirror again and Turner rolled his own. "Because it can get into small places and take pictures while lighting up. Isn't that what they are for?" He gave them annoyed looks, still not telling them much of anything.

"Whereeee are you planning on sticking that, Turner?" Foreman finally asked, turning to look over the seat.

Turner sighed and looked up, then looked away. Wilson could tell he was 'giving up' finally. "I'm going to make a house call, you could say, while I'm here. I talked to some people last night, and I agreed to do an examination. It's no big deal." He explained.

Foreman frowned and turned back to look at him again. "You're going to..."

There was a chirping coming from the pocket of Wilson's jacket, interrupting Foreman, and he dug into his pocket with one hand while he tried to navigate unknown streets with the other. "Hello!"

Wilson wasn't too surprised when it was House on the other end. "Yessssss, we made it. We're on the road now. We're trying to find our way over there. I'm trying to drive."

He paused and sighed. "No, I have no idea where the syrup is. Did you look in the cabinet? The cabinet. The one over the counter. Second one. Yessss. Because I put it up. It didn't belong on the counter. Please tell me you didn't call me, just to ask where the syrup was?" Wilson shared a look with Foreman who was silently chuckling.

"No, I can't make Chase play poker with you. Not even for M&Ms." He heaved another heavy sigh and carefully turned a corner according to the little computer feeding him instructions. "Okay, put Chase on." He finally said, sounding tired.

Foreman pressed his lips together and put his chin against his chest as he tried not to laugh out loud.

"Chase? Will you play a game with House? Yes. I know he cheats. But its like playing with a five year old. You ignore the cheating, and let them win. You don't have to play Poker. How about chess? He's really good... what do you mean he stole your bishop and stuck it down his... you know? I don't even want to know. Play Old Maid. Just... play something! I'm tryinnnng to drive. How much Vicodin have YOU had today?" He asked. "That's what I thought. You both need naps. No. I'm serious. Put House back on."

Foreman wiped a hand over his face, grinning as Wilson continued to talk. "House? Chase doesn't have the tolerance to Vicodin you do. Now, I think both of you should just take a nap. Well, if you want to play so much, you have to stop accosting and molesting his bishop."

Wilson managed to get in another lane without putting anyone in danger and had an irritated look on his face. "If you can't play nice, you can't play at all. You know those are the rules. Now, I'm going to hang up. Because I'd like to get through this fiasco without dying in a car wreck. Go. Nap!" He hung up and tossed the phone down on the seat beside him.

Foreman broke into the laughter he'd been holding all along while Turner was just slowly shaking his head.

"What the hell?" Foreman asked grinning at Wilson. "Are they always like that? Or did House and Chase get stoned together?"

"Little bit of both. But mostly, Chase was having some breakthrough pain, so House dosed him." Wilson sighed. "I don't even want to know why he wanted the pancake syrup. Considering I've not made pancakes? And I don't even think he knows how to make them. Chase can't even have them, unless special made with something else."

"Probably something that will put my patient's health at risk." Turner muttered, then louder he said. "All I know is, if he causes my patient to have another heart attack? I'm beating him with his own cane. I have a damn good record, and I intend to keep it."

"I'm sure House is not going to do anything that will cause Chase to have a heart attack." Foreman said. Then he paused, thinking about what he had just said. "What am I saying? We should have hired Chase a bodyguard. Literally."

Turner shuddered, not wanting to think about it.

Wilson glanced down at his phone, scooping it back up and quickly scrolled to Cuddy's number and pushing call. "Lisa? Hi, yes, we're fine. Just... trying to deal with House and Chase long distance. Could you check in on them if you get the chance? Well, they've already called and Chase is a bit over-medicated. I think they're all right, over-all. I'm just concerned because House is still recovering from his concussion and I think HE may be a bit over-medicated as well. Okay, yes, probably drunk too. But... yeah... you will? You are an angel of mercy. Thank you! Yes. Thank you! Talk to you later."

He put the phone down again, concentrating on his driving as he spoke. "She'll go see them, make sure they aren't ruining all of our track records. Chase isn't just your patient, he's technically ours too!"

Foreman nodded, raising his brows. "I still say he has neurological damage in his brain! The man is living with House!"

"I believe that our best bets would be either the attic or the basement. I was there on a couple of occasions over the years, but not enough for it to really make much of an impression on my memory. I remember it was a two story house, and that when I stayed overnight, it was upstairs." Turner spoke up, interrupting Foreman's ramble about only brain injured or brain damaged people would date House. Other exceptions were cases of insanity...

The phone rang again, interrupting Turner, and this time it was Foreman that snatched it up and answered. "Hello? Chase! I was just thinking about you!" He said brightly. "How are you?"

"Uh huhhhh..." He looked around at everyone, chuckling. "I'm almost positive, you are not going to float out of the room. There's absolutely no reason to have House tie a string to your wrist to the chair. Your perception is off. No. I promise. You saw a what? There's nothing there. Really."

Foreman looked toward the roof of the car and then licked his lips before saying. "Okay, Chase? Hold the phone up in the air... yes, really." He paused and then called out. "GO AWAY SHADOW-WALKER! BOO!"

Cameron hit her head on the window as she was startled awake and looked around frantically. Turner caught her arm and held it, until she reoriented herself. He held her head with her other hand and blinked blearily.

"Uh huh?" Foreman continued, nodding slowly. "It's gone, huh? I knew it would be. I'm really good at scaring those things away. Now, I want you to go to the bedroom, climb into bed, get under the blanket... and go to sleep. Yes, Wilson is still here. I'll make sure nothing grabs him. Mmmhmmm good night."

But Foreman didn't turn off the phone immediately. "Well, of course he didn't believe you! He probably half believes you 'summoned' something. Just go make sure he doesn't fall out of bed or something!" He said in a more irritated manner. "Hey, you wanted him. You got him, in all his stoned out of his mind glory! You reap what you sow! Buh-bye!"

It was then that Foreman clicked the phone off and then looked around at everyone. "Hallucination or weird daymare. Not sure which is more accurate. But he refused to believe House when he said it wasn't 'there'."

"Aww..." Cameron made a small pouty face full of sympathy. Or rather she was pouting because she'd been woke up, and had sympathy for being confused and startled. "He was probably scared!"

"Yeah well, I have awesome super-powers, because I scared 'it' away from another state." Foreman declared, still vaguely amused.

"Speaking of 'it'." Turner muttered as Wilson pulled into the drive. He set his mouth in a grim line, glaring out of the window as the car stopped.

There were two cars parked nearby. One car had a guy in a suit leaning against it. The other car had a man in a very 'loud' shirt, sitting on the hood of the car.

It was with great reluctance that Turner climbed out of the car with the others. The man in the loud shirt jumped off the hood and then before Turner could protest, he'd been grabbed in the bigger man's arms. "I got you now, leprechaun! Now, take me to your gold."

"Put me down before I kick you in the balls!" Turner growled between clenched teeth, struggling. Cameron's eyes had widened in shock, but just as quickly she pressed her lips together and glared at the unknown man.

"Now, now, you don't want to do that in front of the FBI agent!" The loud obnoxious man laughed, refusing to let Turner go.

"How about I have you arrested for assault?" Turner sneered, struggling against him. "Noah, put me DOWN!" He kicked his legs hard.

"Let him GO!" Cameron raised her voice, stomping forward, and for a second Wilson wondered if she was going to start swinging at the irritating man.

"You have no sense of humor." The man dropped him, and Turner nearly lost his footing as he hit the ground. He moved quickly to stand beside Cameron and glared hatefully at the man in the wild shirt.

The agent pushed off the car and walked toward them, offering a polite smile. Wilson wasn't too surprised to see it was a tense and forced smile, or that his eyes narrowed every time he looked at Mr. Noah Loud-shirt. They hadn't been there but a few minutes and Wilson was already sure the man was a pain in the ass!

"I'm Agent Den." He held his hand out to be shaken, and Wilson took it into his own hand. "You are Dr. Wilson? Correct?" His smile relaxed a little more.

"He's here to make sure you don't steal anything other than Greg's baby things." The other man called out, hands in his pockets as he grinned.

Den's smile became tight and pinched again. "Not. Quite." He said in a very controlled voice. "Mr. House? Perhaps you should go on back to your own residence. I can handle it from here."

Wilson was amused to hear the 'go the hell away' unspoken in the air.

"Are you going to arrest me, if I don't?" Asked the other man who had finally confirmed to indeed be another relative. Wilson just could not bring himself to be surprised that the man had the gall to ask that.

"Mr. House?" Agent Den smiled again. "Don't tempt me."

"My Aunt called me last night, concerned by what these four are planning to do." The man shoved his hands in his baggy trouser pockets. "Shhhhhe wanted me here!"

"And just what is it that Aunt Blythe thinks we're going to do, Noah?" Turner challenged. "Go through her granny panties and wear them on our head? Drink all their booze, use their telephone to call China and run up the bill? What is it that she thinks we're going to do? If you're worried about us 'stealing' you think you're going to do a better job of protecting her costume jewelry than Agent Den?"

Cameron had straightened up and turned to look at the 'new' House relative with a more intense glare. It looked like she wanted to say something, but instead she pressed her lips together and gave him dirty looks. Wilson gave her a confused look, but then turned back to Agent Den. "We're only here for the specified items, is this going to be a problem?" He asked giving him a friendly and hopeful smile.

Agent Den shook his head. "It isn't supposed to be. The items in question have already been cataloged and looked through. They aren't of any use to us in the investigation and have been cleared for you four to take away. Mr. House, here, is free to leave. I would even recommend that he remove himself from the property."

It wasn't really a suggestion. More like a politely worded order.

"In other words, Noah? You've irritated him to the point that he'd really like to shoot you, but he can't. So get the hell out of here before he can figure out a reason to arrest you." Turner translated helpfully for the other man who was refusing to take the hint.

"My Aunt..." He started and Agent Den held up a hand.

"Is not the issue here. You are not allowed into that house any more than anyone else. These four have been given express permission to retrieve the items in question. I am overseeing this particular operation. You may stay out here and haunt the sidewalk as much as you wish. But if you step foot into that yard? I'm going to have you arrested." Agent Den pursed his lips into a thin line, and gave the other man a hard look.

"See? Told you so." Turner muttered. "He figured out a reason."

Noah glared at Agent Den and then at the others before pointedly going to his car and sitting on the hood again. "I'll watch, from here!"

"God, he's irritating." Turner grumbled and stood patiently beside Cameron who was still glaring at Noah.

Wilson couldn't understand why Cameron already seemed to hate the man. Was it because of the way he'd grabbed Turner? It had been rude, disrespectful, and probably humiliating. But usually she didn't jump straight to hate like that.

He shook his head to himself and turned to follow Agent Den into the house.

The house was indeed a two story building with an attic. It was nice, but somewhat generic in look. Not many pictures up on the walls. Mostly, just prints and paintings picked up here and there over the years. Plastic flowers stood on a mantle, forever 'perfect'. There were some patches and medals of some kind in a frame on the wall, but Wilson couldn't quite see what they were supposed to be.

There was some evidence of the search through the house. But for the most part, it wasn't the kind of ransack search that House's apartment had gone through when Tritter had investigated. The search had been done in a methodical and slow manner. Probably searching for trace evidence as they'd done so. A messy search would have hindered more than helped.

With the exception of things being slightly askew here and there, the house could have been an advert in a magazine. Better Homes and Gardens or some other magazine that put emphasis on making things 'just so'.

Instead of going up though, they were going down. Down into the basement. It was a rather nice basement too, if a bit dark. The paneling made it feel smaller than it really was. Like a den or cave.

It was a finished basement, with a couch and a mini-bar. There was also a small pool table off to the side. A small door led to a toilet and wash basin, and another to the laundry room.

Wilson guessed that this was John's 'lair', where he went down to watch sports and drink beer while the wife stayed upstairs and did whatever it was what wives did when their husbands were avoiding their nagging.

Agent Den led them past all that through another door on the far end, taking them into what was basically a small storage area. Boxes had been opened and sorted through, and were on the floor. "This is the area that the things you want are located. We saw a variety of toys, baby clothes, and baby pictures in this area. A few books too. You know the kind of thing, mothers fill out. 'Baby says first word... immediately told husband off for teaching him bad words.'" He chuckled. "Okay, maybe that was my mother. Anyway... I do have to look through the things you take out of here, just to be on the safe side. But I'm confident that none of you are here to steal." He assured them.

"So, I'm going to go sit in there, and I'll check on you later." He smiled at them a last time and left them in the storage area, after he flipped the lights on.

"Loooook at all this stuff." Foreman made a low whistle. "House's mom was a bit anal wasn't she?"

"Looks like." Turner agreed, picking up a box and putting it on a tiny table on the other side of the smallish room. "Looks like this is mostly clothes for an older boy. I don't think we need this one." He declared, stacking it in a corner. "We'll put things we don't need, over here so we don't accidentally resort them."

With that pronouncement they started to open boxes and look through things.

Cameron naturally aw'ed the first time she found something that was definitely belonging to a baby. "Awww look at this? It's so CUTE!" She held up a small little outfit. "A sailor suit! So adorable!"

Turner just looked pained and Foreman had a strange look on his face, as he obviously tried to picture House himself in a sailor suit. "I'm scarred for life now." He muttered as he went through a box of toy trucks.

"People always say that, and never quite mean it." Turner shook his head and picked up another box, looking through it. "I think I found Bun-Bun." He announced. He pulled the old rabbit out of the box and held it up. The ears fell over pathetically, and it was rather flattened and should be re-stuffed. It was well worn, well loved, and was probably light blue once, but was now a faded gray.

"That, is just so sweet!" Cameron insisted, smiling.

"You think everything is sweet. If she saved his first baby vomit, you'd think it was cute." Foreman insisted.

"I wouldn't go that far." She gave him a look that was not nearly as amused. "It's just that, it's like... I don't know? It's interesting."

"Of course it is. We've been given full permission to snoop through his childhood." Turner explained. "Something he's never told any of you. So of course it will be interesting. Trying to associate sailor suits and little blue bunnies with House? It's... odd... yet true. It's easy sometimes to forget we were all little children once."

"This would be his woob-blanket or whatever he called it." Turner next announced. It was zipped up in a see-through plastic case. He didn't remove it. Instead, he put it all back in the box and put it to the side to 'take with us'.

"This box is kind of heavy." Wilson announced lifting it up to sit on the table. He opened it and raised his brows in surprise. "Baby books." He chuckled.

"What kind?" Cameron asked, standing up to get a better look. She'd found two more boxes of baby clothes and had put them in the 'take with us' pile.

"Looks to be some journals?" He said, as he opened one. "Yeah, seems to be. Here's one that lists all his 'first accomplishments'. No surprise he started 'talking' early." He chuckled. "This one is, I think they are called scrap books?"

Some of them appeared to be storybooks looking at the covers. A few more journals. Photo albums! There were quite a few in the box. "This, definitely goes back with us." He announced as he put everything back into the box and put it in the pile.

He knew that Cameron would have loved to look at the photo album, but he wasn't about to let her go through it or otherwise they'd either be there all night.

"I think that's it." Foreman said, stretching his back and wincing as it popped in a few places.

"Let's carry these out and let Agent Den look through it, and then we can go on to the hotel." Wilson sighed tiredly. They had started early, then the flight and airport had taken at least eight or nine hours, then add in driving time, searching time... it was like they'd pulled a long shift at the hospital with a critical patient. At this point? All he wanted to do was fall in bed.

They each stacked a couple of boxes, and carried them out, chatting idly as they did so. In the other room, they were surprised to meet a different kind of scene. There was a second agent now, and...

"He neeeeever listens." Turner smiled slightly as he watched his cousin laying on the ground, his hands being cuffed behind his back. "Stubborn and thick headed."

"Like the rest of you." Foreman added.

They stayed out of the way, off to the side. Not wanting to irritate the already irritated agents. Both Turner and Cameron were smiling as the second agent finally hauled Noah up onto his feet and pushed him up the stairs ahead of him. Wilson once more wondered what the hell had happened that made Cameron... but he was interrupted in his musings as Agent Den came over.

"I'm beginning to wonder if he was dropped on his head as a child." Den grumbled as he came over to look at the boxes, searching through to make sure of what they were taking with them.

"He's an idiot." Turner simply offered. "With a lot of entitlement issues."

Den didn't say anything, nor did anyone else as he continued to inspect everything that they were taking away. He flipped through the journals, glancing at a few pages here and there, and the photo albums. Finally, he nodded and gave them the go ahead.

It was apparent that he was in a bad mood, so they did not push or say anything. They were polite, respectful, and then they got the hellllll out of there.

They filled the trunk, and then Turner and Cameron still ended up holding a couple of boxes as Wilson took them to the hotel.

No one spoke, or wanted to talk. Cameron nodded off once more, only waking when Turner poked her shoulder to tell her they were there and were checking in. Wilson locked the car up after they got their bags, but leaving the boxes in the rental. He did turn on the alarm.

At this point? They just wanted to sleep.

-- 


	79. Chapter 79

Chase had started out the day peacefully enough.

Wilson had left early to get the others and go to the airport, leaving House and Chase on their own. They'd promise to be careful, and call if they had any problems. Because technically, House still had his concussion, and neither he nor Chase would be able to pick each other up if it came down to it.

He'd been having some tingling, but that happened sometimes. He took his meds, and stretched out on the couch to watch television while House played with his hand-held games.

They had food they could warm up for all meals already prepared for them in the fridge. So at least he'd be able to eat something more than just pudding or whatever else House managed to dig out of the cabinets that he was 'sure' about.

So, all in all, he hadn't thought much of what the day would be like other than relaxing and quiet. Well, relatively quiet. The sound of battle was rather loud from the game, but he could ignore that.

The pain started slowly, as it often did. Merely reminding him that it was time to take something before it would have time to turn into a roaring fire. He obediently did so, obeying his body's warning signs and waited for it to help.

Only, it wasn't helping like it should. Instead of the pain fading back into the background, it continued to grow. He tried to lift his leg and then let it lay back down. The braces worked against him, but it wouldn't have mattered anyway.

"Something wrong?" House finally looked over in faint irritation. Chase had been fidgeting for a while, and it was probably distracting him from his game.

"It's not working." Chase said between clenched teeth as he tried to shift to another position.

"Take another." House ordered, looking down at the bottle on the coffee table.

"Oh, I never thought of that!" Chase growled in annoyance, because he obviously had. But then realized a second later that he was snapping at House due to pain, not because House had done something wrong. "Sorry... it's just..."

"I know." House told him. He was quietly thinking, and Chase had a feeling that he was doing the same thing Chase was currently doing. Trying to calculate how much more he could take without damage.

House grabbed his cane and went to the bedroom, and returned with a box while Chase continued to lay on the couch, looking up at the ceiling. It was burning now. A line of fire from his lower back along the back of his thigh and down below his knee.

He opened the box and looked through the various bottles within it. Old prescriptions, by the look of it. He blew out a breath, picking up one and looking at it in the light, then over at Chase. "Give me a number, for the pain." He asked quietly.

Chase considered downplaying. Telling him five, or maybe six. But the pain was rising and he was already squeezing his eyes closed by now, gripping the couch cushion in his hands as he lay there. "It's up to an eight. I don't think it's done rising." He said between clenched teeth.

House pressed his lips together tightly and sighed. He moved the NSAIDS to the side, probably because they had been shown to not help any better than acetaminophen. "I'm going to give you some immediate release tramadol." He said with reluctance. He took one of the tablets and broke it in half. "I'm going to give you half of a fifty, and if that doesn't do it, we'll... give you the other half." He still sounded a bit reluctant about it.

"Right now? If you handed me a gun, I'd take it." Chase said between clenched teeth as he grabbed the offered tablet and the drink offered for it. He swallowed it down and was nearly praying, wanting it to work as fast as it could.

House sat on the coffee table, setting the box of meds to the side as he balanced his chin on his cane watching Chase. "It's the sciatic nerve, isn't it?"

Chase didn't say anything, just nodded, closing his eyes again and trying not to think.

"Just hold on for a bit longer." House told him. Chase nodded again, but didn't say anything. It seemed it would be too much effort and he was too busy just trying to breathe.

He didn't know how much time had passed, but he was sure he was in hell. This was hell. It had to be. He was so tense that he was starting to get cramps in other parts of his body, while sweat pooled on his body.

"Here." House prompted again. "Take this." He shoved the other half of the pill toward his lips. "Swallow." He followed it up with the drink once more.

Chase obediently did so, because he was desperate and no longer thinking straight. All he could think about was the pain. It was his entire being. A downward spiral into hell where fire licked along the edge of his nerves while bolts of lightening crackled through him.

He felt a soft wet cloth wipe over his forehead. That in itself, felt good, but it was overwhelmed by the sheer pain that was coming from his lower back and leg. Mostly, in the back of his leg.

He chanted the word 'fuck' under his breath, trying to control breathing, praying for the pills to do something. Anything! Even if it was just to kill him. He didn't care!

"Just try to relax, give it time." House muttered.

"Yeah, bet you like hearing that too." Chase spat at him, his eyes cracked open in a glare.

House's hand paused on his head, but after a moment, he merely pursed his lips and continued to sponge him off. He wasn't rising to the bait. House above all would know that ploy. In pain, spread the misery, provoke a fight. The fight would do two things, usually. Give a temporary method of pouring the frustration and helpless anger into something that could respond by yelling back, and then it would drive them away. For the first few minutes, it would feel like a victory, until later when you realized you didn't drive away the actual 'pain', and that it was still there. Only, now? You were alone.

House would know and though he wasn't known for taking the abuse he himself tended to give out, he was apparently making the effort he promised Chase. Because he didn't say a word. Just kept track on his watch to see if there was improvement, and wiped his head.

"It's not working." Chase grabbed at the washcloth, intent on throwing it. House pulled it back before he could, and Chase rolled toward the inside of the couch, away from the other man.

"It takes a few..." House started and then stopped. It wouldn't be worth arguing.

Chase was in hell. He was sure of it. He'd died sometime in the night, and he was in hell for all his sins. And if he wasn't dead? He wished he would die soon, for the respite.

He must have said it aloud, because House made a noise before saying. "You don't mean that. "

"Right now? Yes. I do." Chase argued. He punched the back of the couch a few times, biting his lip. Why wasn't it working? Why wasn't it helping? Why was it hurting so damn bad?

It had been so long since he was in constant and unending pain, he wasn't used to this sharp and torturous attack. Of course, he never had gotten 'used' to the bad ones. No one did. Memory dulled and protected people from remembering the pain, so that when it hit again, it always seemed like it had to be worse than it was before, even if it was actually just the same.

The difference between now and last time, was that he wasn't in the hospital and Wilson wasn't standing there with a needle full of morphine.

"Give me another Vicodin." Chase demanded.

House shook his head. "No. You've had 50 mg of Tramadol, and you're over your limit on Vicodin as it is..."

"You, are the last person that should be telling someone they are over their limit." Chase hissed viciously. "Give me the goddamned bottle." He demanded again, hand out.

"You're going to tank your liver." House's eyes had narrowed, and he held his ground. The bastard.

"I'm not worried about my liver." Chase sounded petulant and sullen, and he knew it.

"Lucky for you, I am." House told him, refusing to give him the bottle, and shoving it into his pocket.

"Do I get to tell you that, next time your leg is hurting and you want to take another pill?" Chase grabbed under his leg, digging his fingers into the flesh wishing he could reach inside, take the nerve and pull it out. He snarled. "And don't you dare tell me it isn't the same thing."

House took a deep breath and Chase could see he was close to breaking and verbally tearing into Chase. Or perhaps he would just go the last step and smack him with his cane. So close to shattering House's forcefully maintained calm. He watched House squeeze the handle of his cane, his lips pressed together. "Stay here." He growled, standing up and picking up his box of pills before limping out of the room, and disappearing.

Chase was both glad and disappointed as House didn't return immediately. He'd managed to drive House away, even if for a short time.

At least, that is what he'd thought for several minutes.

He'd rolled back onto his left side again, facing the inside of the couch and gripped the cushion with his hands. Please, just stop hurting. Please. He silently begged and pleaded with his body to obey, to just fall into the pain pills he'd already thrown at it, and let go. He'd rather be in a coma right now than feel this.

He heard the uneven gait and thump of House returning, but refused to turn to look. He was just about in a state where if he didn't move, at all, he could just about breathe. Almost. Of course, his knuckles were white, and his hands were frozen in position on the cushion. And he was still in pain, sweating, and felt like he was about to go into shock. But if he just didn't move, he might survive this particular attack.

Chase nearly startled as he felt House pull the waistband of his sweats down over his hip baring skin. But then he felt the cold swipe of a wipe, and the sharp sanitary smell of alcoho and prayed it meant what he thought it might.

He didn't care where House may have gotten it. Didn't care that he probably had it illegally. He just didn't care, so long as it took the pain away.

He felt the sting of the needle, but compared to the fire and bolts of lightening in his leg? It was nothing at all.

It took a few seconds, but... it was like water to the flames. Soothing the pain away for the first time in the last couple of hours. He gently rolled back to see House putting away the tiny bottle of morphine and discard the needle.

Quietly, he whispered, "Thank you. I'm... sorry. I..." He trailed off, meeting House's eyes. "I shouldn't have been..."

House shook his head. "I'm the last one that can come down on you for lashing out. At least, you didn't punch me." He gave him a rueful half smile. "I've had people say a lot worse, for less, and hell, you weren't that bad this time. It's when you can get up on your feet and start grabbing things that will be the problem."

Chase closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of floating when he felt someone pushing down on his chest. "Ow ow!" He protested. Though he was pretty pain free, the rubbing on his sternum was enough to get his attention. "What did you do that for?" He slurred.

"You've had three different narcotics pumped into your system, and your breathing is slowing down too much. Up. We're going to keep you 'busy' at least until I'm sure you can go to sleep without dying on me." House didn't look too thrilled, and Chase wondered how much time had passed between him closing his eyes till House was waking him again.

"Too tired for hanky panky." Chase protested, letting House sit him up.

House paused and then laughed quietly, looking down. "That is not what I meant, but good thought for later. No. I think we should keep you busy, for at least half an hour to an hour... then you can sleep." He told him. "I just want some of the medicines to wear off a bit more until I am confident I didn't overdose you too much."

"Ooookay." He sighed. "Where's the games?"

"Games?" House looked up in surprise. "That works." He said after a second. "Stay here!"

"Where am I going to go?" Chase looked around, though he wasn't really seeing much of anything but a kind of hazy mist. "Do I look like I got wings?" He wondered.

He was just starting to doze off again when House returned. "Hey, hey, hey, no sleeping yet!" House shook his arm and set up the Chess board on the coffee table. "White or black?" He asked.

"It's more of a tan color." Chase argued in a sigh. There was a haze around everything and for a moment he was distracted by watching the 'smoke' that seemed to be coming off of the piece in front of him.

"Fine. Tan or black." House was ignoring all efforts to make him 'go away'. He recognized such tactics. Damn him!

"Black. Though it's more of a brown..." Because he didn't really want to have to think too hard. He knew he was going to lose this game, but he was mostly just humoring House by playing it to stay awake.

Between turns, he kept dozing off only for House to wake him again. Chase whined, knowing he was whining and sounding like he was about five years old. "Nuuuuu, let me sleeeeeep I'm tired." He pouted. "You're a big meanie poop." He pronounced.

That apparently amused House, though Chase wasn't sure why, because he started to laugh. Well, at least House was having fun. Chase didn't even know what was so funny!

Chase continued to pout and looked at the board. "Where is my... um... dude with the tall hat?" He demanded. "I had the tall hat dude right there? What did you do with him?"

"Your bishop?" House asked with a small smile.

"You stole my bishop!" Chase accused, his crossed over his chest as he scowled at House. "That was a mean thing to do!"

"No, I took him as a prisoner of war, two turns ago." House patiently explained. "That's how this game works. We each have an army, and we then do 'battle' and then I take your pieces as prisoners of war. You try to do it in return, but can't, and then you lose! That's the way it goes."

"Did not. You stole him. You took my tall hatted guy! Give him back!" Chase held out his hand, pointing with the other into the palm of his hand. "I want him back now!"

House picked the black bishop up from the table and held it up, but then pulled it back to his chest. "Nope. I took him prisoner fair and square. It's not my fault you're not paying attention!"

"I'm going to tell!" Chase whined, shoulders slumping in defeat.

"Who?" House asked in amusement, looking around them and then back at Chase. "It's just you and me here!"

"Wilson, when he gets home!" Chase now knew he did sound indeed like he was about five years old. But House had his tall hat guy, and was...

"You stuck him down your pants!" He pointed at House, looking horrified. "You can't do that!"

"I put him in my pocket." House laughed, finding it hilarious. He leaned back and licked his lips before laughing again. "Oh, god, you're stoned."

"You put him in your pants!" Chase told him. "You're molesting him! You're only supposed to molest ME!"

House's head fell back in laughter and he started to cough and then laughed some more. "He's in my pocket. And I promise that as soon as you're all better, I will molest you, every day!"

"Which is in your pants, therefore he's in your pants! Give him back, he'll be traumatized!" Chase held out both his hands, making grabby motions.

House merely continued to laugh, shaking his head. "Let's play a different game." He suggested. "How about poker?" He asked, starting to put the game away.

"No, you cheat!" Chase crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back on the couch, pouting some more. "Not playing wif you nomore." He slurred. "Taking a nap, instead. And then when Wilson gets home? I'm tellin' on you." He told him.

"How about something to eat? And then we'll play some poker, and then you can sleep." House tried to bargain.

"I want pancakes." Chase was still being sullen.

"You can't have pancakes." House told him. "Your lips say yes, your stomach says fuck you. Remember?"

"I want syrup!" Chase told him. "It doesn't have glue-tone in it."

"Glue-tone huh?" House teased. "Well, that's one way to think of it. How about this? I get some of that weird gluten free bread that Aunt Sarah bought? And we turn it into french toast? And then you can have syrup on it?"

"I want lots and lots of syrup on it." Chase told him. "Lots!"

House disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Chase alone. But he kept coming in and checking on Chase, refusing to let him sleep even for a few minutes. Eventually he could smell the food, but House stepped out and said. "Do you know where the syrup is?"

"I'm not eating without syrup." Was all that Chase said, sounding as stubborn as he felt at the moment.

House rolled his eyes and grabbed his cellphone as he went back into the kitchen. He could hear cabinet doors opening and closing, as well as the fridge. From where Chase was sitting he could hear House speaking into the phone. "Hey, Wilson! Did you guys make it there all right? Where are you at? Uh huh... Surely you can do two things at once like drive and answer a question." House scoffed into the phone.

"Do you know where the syrup is? I can't find it. Which cabinet? I've been looking in cabinets... Which cabinet do you mean? Oh, hey, there it is! Why is it in there? If you had left it on the counter, I would have known where it was!"

There was a small pause. "Would I call you hundreds of miles away, just to ask where the syrup was?"

Chase privately thought he would indeed do such a thing. But he was surprised when he heard House deny that was the sole reason. "Nooo, I didn't call just to ask that. Can you tell Chase to play poker with me? Just for M&Ms! Oh come on... will you talk to Chase? I need to finish this, and you can keep him busy while I do."

He stepped into the living room and shoved the phone into Chase's hand.

"No. I don't want to play annnnymore games with House. He cheats!" He listened to Wilson try to talk him into House's position on gaming. He kept wanting to nod off, but he focused in enough to answer. "I don't want to play chess with him again. He stole my bissssshop and stuck it down his pants to molest it and have his wicked way! I'm ment... okay." He shrugged. Wilson didn't want to know the vile things House did, he didn't blame him for it! "I don't know how to play Old Maid, what are you doing? Is it fun?" Oh, driving. That's no fun. "I had... um... one, two, threeeee... um... I don't know. I had lots of pain and now I have noooo pain. A nap? I don't need a nap! House said so! No nap. He told me no. I asked! Okay."

He took a deep breath and then yelled. "HOUSE! Wilson wants to talk to you! He said let me have a nap!"

"Ah, well, you see... no I want to play before our nap." House was wincing. He didn't want to tell Wilson that Chase was overdosed on pain meds, that much was clear. So he persisted in playing as though he were being a spoiled brat, even as he put the food down for Chase to eat. "I didn't molest his bishop, I put it in my pocket. I can't help that he has a dirty mind!"

House looked at the phone snorting in wry amusement before pushing end and throwing the phone down on the couch before sitting beside Chase. "You can have a nap, in a bit. I want to take some vitals first." He told him. "I want to make sure you keep breathing, for one thing."

"I'm breathing just fine..." Chase started to say, but then he was suddenly staring in front of him and holding his breath. He put his plate down to the side and reached out slowly for House's hand, never moving his eyes from the spot in front of him. "Do you see it?" He asked House.

House frowned. "See what?"

Chase pointed to the dark shape in front of him on the coffee table. It reminded him of a tiny gargoyle, only it had yellow eyes and seemed to be made of 'shadows'. It was looking at him. "It's a... I don't know. A walking shadow. A shadow walker." He decided to name it. "Oh, god, it's moving..."

Chase shifted quickly toward House, leaning against the older man's arm, clutching it in fear.

House closed his eyes and sighed heavily. "Chase? It's not there. It's a hallucination. It's not there." He put his hand out and swiped it in front of Chase to show the other man that he had nothing to fear.

"It moved. It's on the ceiling now!" Chase clutched House's arm tighter, digging his fingers in and trying to pull House with him so that the creature didn't jump down on them.

"Nothing there!" House told him again. "You're having a bad trip. Nothing there!" He insisted.

"Oh no. I think I'm floating up." He said in faint horror. If the monster couldn't jump down on him, it was going to bring him up to the ceiling TO it. "Tie my wrists down. I don't want to float up there! Please?"

"I'm not tying you down, Chase." House shook his head. "You're imagining things. You're just having a reaction. You'll be all right."

Chase swept up the phone, pushing the last number dialed. House raised his brows, trying to figure out what the hell Chase was doing.

"Foreman? Foreman! Please tell House to tie me down? I'm going to float! He has to tie me down so I don't float! Or I'll be lost!" He listened to the other man, biting his lip. "Are you sure? I'm not going to float away? Do you promise? There's a shadow walker on the ceiling trying to get me! Are you sure it's not there?"

"That's what I told you." House chuckled softly. "Don't listen to me. Call someone in another state to ask their opinion."

"But it's going to get me. It won't go away, and House can't reach it to shoo it like he did off the coffee table. He won't talk to it or anything! He won't scare it off."

Chase looked over at House and then put the phone in the air. Out of the phone, he could hear Foreman yell 'Go away Shadow-Walker! Boo!'

House started to laugh again beside him, wiping a hand down his face and looking away with a smirk.

He put the phone back up to his ear. "Yes, it's gone now. You did that really good. Is Wilson still there? Okay, make sure nothing gets him. We need him, so don't let anything grab him. Thank you. Ni-ni!"

Chase handed House the phone and lay his head back on the couch, closing his eyes. Listening to House defend himself. He opened his eyes again and watched.

"Hey, I told him that there was nothing there. He didn't believe me. I didn't realize he was going to call you! He's out of his mind today..." He made a face at the phone and shut it off as Foreman hung up on him.

"Now can I go sleepies?" Chase asked pathetically, leaning over to lay his head on House's shoulder. "Pleeeeeze?"

House gave him an irritated sigh and then nodded. "All right, but I'm going to sit beside you, and keep track of your vitals." He warned him. "And if you start to crash? I'm going to beat you with my cane, got it?"

"You looooove me, or you wouldn't threaten meeeee." Chase told him, putting his arms around him and hugging him before giving him a sloppy stoned kiss.

"Yeah yeah yeah... gedoff..." House agreed and got out of his grasp so he could help wrangle Chase back into his wheelchair and get him back into the bedroom where he could be comfortable.

House pushed it, and managed to do a fair bit of pulling and shoving to get Chase into the bed and under the covers. Chase's eyes were so heavy from fighting the sedation so long that he barely got the words out, "Ni, love oo. Hm." Before he was down for the count, leaving House to worry over him.

--

(Here be Crack of a new sort. Written as a personal 'Dare' and Co-written by IloveMenthos. Disclaimer: We're insane, just deal with it and go with the flow. You're not expected to understand or get anything they speak of. Chase doesn't, so why should you? St. Pancras, Attor, and others were used with permission of their creators/writers. Thank you!)

It was the people that attracted his attention first.

He wasn't sure where they actually were, or where they had come from, or why they were there. But he could hear their voices in the hall. Come to think of it? He wasn't even sure how he'd gotten from the bedroom to this... conference room? But realizing he was no longer where he should be distracted him from the people in the hallway, and he turned his attention to his location.

He looked around the room, noting that it was indeed a conference room. But there were no glass walls as he was used to. Instead, it was enclosed in the traditional manner with dark wood paneling and a large oak table in the middle of the room. Even the chairs were wooden, though they had cushions in the seat, and the light fixtures were nothing like what was at the hospital, though they still somehow managed to give off a bright light.

In two corners on the far side of the room were potted trees, and there were plants hanging from the ceiling on that side of the room as well. In another corner, there was a piece of equipment that was in pieces, and he couldn't tell what it had been at one point. There were stacks of books on the oak table, as well as a couple of laptops, opened and ready for whomever was going to use them. There were pens, and pencils and sheets of paper spread out on the table, making it much messier than what he was used to seeing in the diagnostic conference room. Whatever went on in this room? It was very busy and used for multiple purposes by more than one person.

And oddly enough? There was a cat sitting on one of the chairs giving him a strange look.

But most telling of all, was the white board that stood in front of the table, with the ever present markers perched on their small ledge, waiting for House.

He looked beyond that, and saw the doorway to the office, but again, there were no glass windows. So he could not see within it. But the plague was disturbing. It didn't say Gregory House. It said... Attor House. That wasn't right. Not at all.

The cat stretched, meowing as it sharpened its claws on the cushion then yawned. "You're not supposed to be here are you?" The cat asked, and Chase felt his eyes widen. A talking cat? Did a cat really just talk to him?

"Stop gawkin' and sit down." The cat ordered, tail swishing from side to side. "They'll be in here soon enough."

"What are you?" Chase asked the cat. The cat was talking. It was a talking cat! Oh. My. GOD! A talking CAT!

"I'm a cat, d'uh." She said in a bored voice. The cat's tail continued to swish back and forth. "Well, right now. Hopefully they can change me back before I have to go to work." The cat sighed unhappily. "It's going to be hell working in the pharmacy like this." The cat paused. "No thumbs. Makes putting lids on the potions and pills nearly impossible."

"I imagine it does." Chase said weakly sitting down, and looking straight on at the white board. Sure enough he saw a list of 'symptoms' as well as some notations. But what was written, didn't really make sense to him.

Unknown Potion on dare bar Stupidity seems to be normal for patient.

Organs melting Skin sloughing off Bones turning soft and bendy

"That's for their other patient. He's an idiot." The cat assured, settling back down on the cushion, tail to nose. "But doesn't matter, we still have to treat the idiots too. Even when they do stupid things."

"That patient is going to die!" He said in horror, looking at the board. Even if they hardened his bones with calcium and vitamin D, gave him skin grafts, and a massive internal organ transplant, there was no way a patient in that bad a condition could survive! The stress was just too great!

"Nah. They have him in a stasis unit. He's asleep. If they can stop the potion, they can use others to repair some of the damage. Maybe not all, but most of it. But yeah, he'll need to be here for a long time to heal in the meantime. Never drink anything without knowing what it is." The cat advised.

"Is that how you became a cat?" He asked, raising his brows. He felt like he was in Alice in Wonderland. Perhaps this was the Cheshire Cat?

"Hell no." The cat looked annoyed, scowling at him, flicking its tail back and forth. "This is due to a prank. If I'm not human by tonight? I'm using his leg as a scratching post!" The cat swore. "Goddamn bastard."

Chase nodded, still at a loss. "Um... well deserved!" He agreed quietly, though unsure.

"Okay, let's deal with the idiot." A man that looked like House boomed as he walked into the conference room, and pointed with his cane at the board. His gaze fell upon the cat. "Ah, Eileen!" He addressed the cat. "Still not changed back, huh?"

Chase blinked and looked back down at the cat. Of course! That's where he'd heard the voice before! Eileen! He didn't recognize her with... fur... and a tail. And being so small. With four legs. Ahem.

"No. I've not changed back yet. If it is a timed spell, it has staying power." Eileen's tail whipped back and forth in irritation, her whiskers quivering in indignation. Her claws digged into the cushion. "And when I get to that idiot, I'm going to dig my claws into something..." She trailed off with a low growling 'mreoooow'.

"Do you need some scrotum recipes?" The man asked her, as he threw his file onto the table, and then snapped his fingers. "I forgot. Xenos probably knows them." Then he fiddled with his pills, carelessly popping several pills into his mouth. "And Smurf is looking for you. Something about making you purrrrrrrrrr like you've never purrrrrrrred before ..."

She chuckled evilly. "Yes, Xenos would have the scrotum recipes, if I needed them. Unfortunately, the way I want Smurf to make me purr is impossible in this form." She sighed, her whiskers drooping just a little as she lay down. "Woe." She intoned blandly.

Chase looked at the man in question, and almost spoke. But there was something just... wrong. Something he couldn't put his finger on. He knew on some level he couldn't quite pinpoint, that this was NOT Gregory House. This was not House as he should be. The man, while still crippled, seemed somehow... more powerful. Stronger. Perhaps, even younger in some way? He wasn't sure. Maybe, it was the eyes, which were unnaturally bright at times. But there were other things that were just, imperfect about his appearance. Skewed. He just couldn't figure out what it was. He could almost see a faint 'mist' rising up from him, but also knew it wasn't 'real' either.

He smiled at Chase - a smile Gregory House wouldn't have given anyone on his staff as freely as he did right now. It was truly genuine, and brimmed with fatherly love-- just not any other kind of love. There was no passion or desire in that look.

Chase gave him a strange look, wrinkling his brows. This wasn't 'right' on so many levels. House never looked at him that openly. Not even since they had gotten together. It was... it reminded him of the way fathers sometimes looked at their sons with pride and love. No one had ever looked at him with that kind of look, in such an unguarded manner.

"Son, I thought you were training with Seth?" The other man asked, surprised. "Or that your sister was pulling a prank on you again. Turning a zombie loose on you, or whatever macabre stuff she can think off ..."

He was even calling him son? And... Seth? Sister? He didn't have any sisters! Well, he had step-sisters but he'd never been close to them. Zombies?

He cocked his head to the side. "And you've gotten a grasp on those invisibility spells, too."

Spells, potions, talking cats. And there it was! That's cinched it for him. He was dreaming!

"I'm stoned." Chase raised his brows. "This is one hell of a crack dream. Or rather, Morphine, Vicodin, and Tramadol dream." He rubbed a hand over his lips. "You know? Usually? I wake up when I realize it is a dream. Guess that might be harder to do when you're drugged to the gills, huh?" He looked up from where he was currently tapping the side of his own face.

"Why do other people always get the good stuff and I'm stuck on these?" The Not-House bitched, more out of habit than out of anything else.

A feminine voice in the background was asking for 'daddy', and Not-House slumped forward, much like how a kid would do when he was fed up with everything. "I'M A DOCTOR, NOT VERSACE! AND IT'S NOT NICE TO YELL!" He yelled toward the ceiling.

"Um... Who is... that?" Chase asked, curious about the strangeness of this dream. He didn't recognize the voice. No. He thought about it. It wasn't familiar at all.

Eileen jumped onto the table and slinked over to the older man. "He's not Luc or Robert." She informed him. She interrupted herself with the need to lick her paw and clean her face. It was a compulsion she could not seem to stop. She paused after a second and said. "He appeared out of thin air."

"So you're not my son, and probably are just popping in and out..." Not-House said, sitting down in one of the chairs. "Well, in any case, sit back down."

The voice appeared again, calling for daaaaaddyyyyyyy, and Not-House rolled his eyes before looking up at the ceiling.

"That is my daughter. Cissa. Look at her wrongly, and you're dead." He warned him in a voice that allowed no discussion. Chase had no problem imagining that if House had a daughter, he'd beat someone with his cane to keep men off her. After all? He above all would know what went on in the heads of other men!

"A bit of a fashionista ... and an expensive one." He grumbled the last bit under his breath. "She saw this dress in Milan and she just has to have it, and I'm to pay for it. She thinks! She'll go to bother her stepdad, JA?" He called out.

"The Robert Chase here ..." House wiggled his fingers at the table and the empty stool on the other side. "Is my son." He explained. "He's shacking up with Greg these days. I said 'fine' as long as he didn't give me any details. I might be a horny son of a bitch? But I really really really realllly don't need to hear about the sex lives of my kids."

"Yes, I know, before you say anything. I look like Gregory House." Attor nodded. "I have good genes, what else can I say? My name is Attor and I'm an angel." And he immediately raised his hand. "Not Biblical angels, priest boy, so don't go hyper-ventilating on me. We're a separate race, removed from the catholic beliefs. We existed before organized religion on Terra or within this realm in general."

"And I'm snarky, I'm annoying, I lie, I cheat and I steal." He continued. "Two of my daughters are Grim Reapers. It's the family 'business'. We eitherrr become Healers? Or Reapers, or scientists. Blame my ex-husband for the Reaper bit in the family."

Chase could almost hear the word 'the bastard' somewhere in the ensuing silence.

Eileen jumped up, calling out for 'Smurf', heading out the door which opened without her having to do anything more but come near it.

"Oh, my god... Okay... note to self, never ever ever mix those three drugs again." His eyes widened and he whispered it to himself as he took in everything that Attor was explaining. He had enough trouble with his religion without having such images appearing in his dreams to mess with his perceptions. Healers, Reapers, or scientists? Something is... well it was all weird.

"Oh, my god." Chase continued to whisper. His eyes darted around the room as he also tried to commit it to his memory. His mind was trying to tell him something. He could sort it out later when he was awake.

"Oh, my GOD!" He put his hands on the table to steady himself and then realized with a blink. He wasn't in pain!

He stood up and touched his back. "I'm... walking? I'm... I'm walking!" He touched his leg next and then put his hands back on his back, but then frowned in realization. "Definitely a dream then." He sighed, sinking back down into his chair.

"But you're not walking on water." Attor pointed out with a smirk. "Possibly a dream, possibly astral projection. Who knows? The universe comes up with some pretty weird stuff." He shrugged, but only used one shoulder. "But that's a lot of crap to be taking. You said Vicodin, Tramadol, and Morphine? What's wrong with you?"

"Greg... I live with him. Not that he is the reason for dosing me, but... I was in a lot of pain." He told the other man, stumbling over his words. "He dosed me because I was in so much pain that I wanted to shoot myself. I took the three Vicodin, one at a time, and then half a fifty of Tramadol, and then the other half. But neither was helping with the pain. So he injected me with Morphine. Then I think there was a phone call to Wilson? Annnnd... Foreman?" He squinted to himself. "It got very fuzzy about then."

"I..." He frowned and looked down, a trifle embarrassed now. "I ignored a bunch of symptoms, telling myself they weren't anything to matter." He sighed deeply. "Broke my back, and then I had to have surgery to put metal rods in my back. I had a heart attack on the table, because I threw a clot. But even after that, damage was happening. While testing me, Wilson accidentally broke my hip too. So I'm currently healing from a broken back and a broken hip... and my nerves have damage in my spine, and the sciatic is trying to KILL me at times. I had breakthrough pain. It... overwhelmed me."

Attor carefully listened to Chase, and then shook his head. "Have you had your steroid shots?" He finally asked, and took out his pill bottle again. "Well, enjoy your painless state as of now ..." He wiggled his fingers at Chase. "Astral projections in general do not involve painnnn. Lucky youuuuu."

"Steroid..." Chase paused and then closed his eyes. "Swelling. The swelling?" He asked, though he wasn't sure why he was asking a figment of his imagination.

"I must have worse father issues than I ever realized." Chase blinked to himself, looking over at Attor. If in his mind he was equating House with a father figure? Then he was genuinely messed up in the head.

"This is news?" Thomas asked stepping into the room. "Pft." The other man gave him a vaguely annoyed look, handing some lab results to Attor.

"Turner!" Chase gaped at him. Oh great, the last thing he needed was Turner in his dreams. He looked closer and then frowned.

It was Turner, but not, Turner. Just as House hadn't been House. It looked like him, but this version apparently didn't use a razor often, and wore all black. Not to mention, he had a gun strapped to his leg. Chase startled as he noticed that detail, stepping back quickly after falling out of his chair, hand raised in a defensive posture.

Wilkes gave him an annoyed look and sat down, ignoring him from that point on. "Idiot's brain remains intact, but if we can't reverse it in the next forty eight hours? We might as well just let him go. He'll be a vegetable."

"All of my kids ..." Attor shook his head. "Father issues here, father issues there ... And I'm still a pretty great dad, considering everything." House pointed out. "It's not my fault though, if I'd raised them... Anyway, nope, Wilkes. Thomas Wilkes. One of my descendants. Dates my other daughter, Darla."

But then House paid attention to what Wilkes had to say, and hm'ed. "Did anyone find anything? How about the tree hugger?" He meant Luc, but it was out before he realized it ... and it was still meant in a loving, doting way.

Darla stumbled into the room, with a large quantity of books in her arms, and went 'hellep, book overload' at everyone. Wilkes jumped up and grabbed some of the books helping her set them on the table.

"Thank you!" Darla said to Wilkes. Like Attor? She had the brightest of blue eyes, and an attitude to match. When she saw Chase, she hm'ed. "You're far from your bed, you."

"Isn't that incest? If he's descended from you? And dating your daughter?" Chase looked rather disconcerted.

Wilkes rolled his eyes and looked back over at him. "No. Because we're separated by several dozen generations. Attor is six thousand years old. THOUSAND. Six thousand years old. I'm in my late twenties? Yeah. Not an issue. It's why and how Robert Chase can date the human Greg House. Accident of genes grouping just right. But so many generations between the start and finished product that it doesn't matter genetically. That and he's a freak too."

"My daddy is six thousand years, and I refuse to say my own age." She replied, as she took a pill from her father's stash. "And Cissa was nagging to ME about that dress she saw." She bitched toward everyone. "Hello? Poor scientist here. I told her to go bother Da Wilson."

Pills like candy is what it looked like around here.

"That man is going to end up poor just because of Cissa." Attor said, shaking his head.

"Especially with you thrown into the mix!" Darla pointed out, and Attor stuck out his tongue at her.

"Wilson?" He blinked. Da Wilson? Dad Wilson? "And I'm not just far from bed. I'm so damn high I think I've reached outer space. No wonder House was worried I was OD'ing."

"Wilson is mine." Attor said seriously. "Besides, he's good in bed. You wouldn't believe what his tongue can do ..." And Darla winced at that, dramatically, and put her hands over her ears. "That was more than I wanted to hear. You're all perverts!" She insisted.

"C'mon, he didn't drink magical bleach, did he?" Attor finally called out, and then asked again, "Where is Luc? Does he have anything for me?"

Wilkes turned to Attor and remembered that he'd asked before. "Luc? He's still looking something up. He went to Hogwarts, said he thought he remembered seeing a book there that might help."

Hogwarts? Hogwarts. That was a word Chase vaguely recognized. Oh! He almost laughed as he recognized the reference.

Robert Chase aka The Freak, as Wilkes had just called him, moved gingerly into the room from the hallway. His wings were still bound by the nylon, holding them in place against his back so that the broken wing would not be wounded any further and so it would heal correctly.

Chase's eyes widened as his look-alike-plus-wings sat down carefully on a stool. "Luc's on his way back." He told his dad quietly. "He just called. He found a book of potions, one of them talked about melting organs. It was in the Inner Sanctum with the rest of the 'forbidden' books."

Wilkes snapped his fingers and grimaced. "Damn it! I'm out five galleons. I hate when Luc is right!"

"Stop betting with Luc. He may look like a pansy-nancy-boy, but he's a shark when it comes to betting." Robert gave Wilkes a put-upon look. "He takes after father in that respect."

He raised his brows and stared at him. Wilson and this Attor were an item and... ohhhh he didn't think he should be thinking about Wilson's tongue in that kind of context. "Attor and Wilson..." He muttered aloud. "But Greg and I... Attor and Greg look so much alike..."

Also, Angel!Chase was wearing what amounted to being... a brace?

Robert snapped his fingers and shook his head. "Don't think about it, mate. I don't. Goes into all sorts of weird things. You learn to compartmentalize after a while. This is Dad. And then Greg is Partner. I get what I need, from each of them." He shrugged a shoulder and then winced. "Similar, but different. Different generations. Divided by time! Big age gap, and yet they still have some... personality traits." He smiled a little.

"What happened to you?" Chase asked, gesturing at the nylon wrapped all around him. "And where is... 'Greg'? Why do you have wings? And your... father... does not?"

"Seth broke my wing and ran me through with a sword. I was training to fight." Robert explained. "The wound in my stomach healed fast, due to our nature. But the wings? Take a while. As for Greg? Probably hiding from Lucky and Wash. They run St. Pancras. This is the hospital you're at. It was built after St. Mungos was destroyed in a battle a few months ago."

Wash? That... that was another reference? Wash. He couldn't place it because the context was too far off right now.

Angel!Chase continued. "Father used to have wings, but they were greatly injured. He was betrayed by a lover, and they were poisoned. In order to stop the poison, they had to be cut off, but the pain always remained from them. The wound can never be healed no matter the magic used. He has fallen from grace since then, and is now considered among the Fallen themselves. But he is still a Healer. Not a Reaper. He is still, at the heart of it, what he once was. Later the poison returned, and had to be focused on one area of his body, so that it could be dealt with without killing him. He chose his leg, because he needs his hands to work."

Thomas frowned. "He is a survivor. That, that is what matters. He will still be here, in some context, even when the time comes that he is no longer of this Earth. His legacy will always live on. He will always be here." He stressed. "Labels don't matter."

Chase realized something as he listened to Wilkes. "British accents?" He said in a pained voice. "Argh. I'm not British! Doesn't matter how many times House declares I am, I'm NOT!"

"Neither am I." Robert protested, scowling as though he'd been lumped with everyone else. "I was raised in Australia. I just happen to live here in the UK now."

"United Kingdom..." He put his hands up and waved it away. Dreams didn't have to make sense. He kept telling himself that. This was just because of House and his insistence on calling him British.

"Look out of the window, and you'll see Big Ben." Attor pointed out.

Chase crept up to the window and gaped at Big Ben. Oi a very detailed dream!

"Do me a favor, will you, little brother?" Darla asked of him. "As soon as you wake up from your 'delirium'? Look up astral projection - ignore all the faerie and angel bullshit, as usual, of course." And then she swallowed the pill. "Yummy pills."

Pills. Like. Candy! Too many!

A woman walked into the room - someone who looked a lot like Sophia Loren - and immediately walked over to Attor, and gave him a careful hug. "I bring cakes and tea! And cookies and lemonade ... and I've got nice fluffy pillows ..."

"Astral projections, riiiight... and... hello. Um... person of questionable reality." He greeted the woman, trying to figure out who she was supposed to be. Oh! He'd watched Grumpier Old Men recently, hadn't he?

"Mother ..." Attor groaned. "This is not a pajama party."

"Hello, grandmother!" Robert cheerfully greeted her while Chase stared in surprise. There was still something, odd about all this. Well, other than this was the most cracked out dream he'd ever had in his LIFE. There were messages here that he needed to understand.

"And then I have to go and smooch on Daragor." She continued, and Attor groaned some more. "Hello dear!" She wiggled her fingers at the new Chase.

Daragor appeared, half stuck in werewolf form, and grabbed Sera in an embrace. "Sex now, bye." And Attor banged his head against the table.

That was definitely not Blythe. But the werewolf, Daragor? There had to be a deeper meaning on that one, he'd just have to figure it out later. Later when he was awake.

"I'm too OLD to have ANOTHER stepdad!" Attor exclaimed.

He felt the impulse to pat Attor's hand. But then frowned. "Well, I mean, you're not too old. I mean, well... it would be awkward, but depending on... things... maybe for the best."

"MY MOTHER SHACKS UP WITH THE GOD OF WEREWOLVES, AND PAIN! PAIN!" Attor yelled, suddenly losing control. "Pain, dammit! As if I don't have enough of it already?" And he banged with his hand against the table. "Unbelievable! God of PAIN!" And with that, he took a long hard look at the pill bottle in front of him.

"Well, they're cute together?" Darla carefully asked, and winced. "Pain is an ... issue."

"I've had four stepdads." Attor pointed out sullenly. "Four. Soon to be five."

"Pain is always going to be an issue." Chase said quietly. "Whether he's there, or not."

But this was the 'God of Pain'. And Attor was calling him a stepdad that he did not want. Out of many.

He looked away and then back again. So many stepdads. Of course, six thousand years...

His brain was breaking. It was trying to tell him something, but he didn't get it.

Another figure bounced in, and again this one looked like Chase, but was thinner, more lithe, and slightly more... feminine. His ears were slightly pointed, and he wore glasses and... tweed? Tweed. Under a lab coat. He was also holding in his arms a very large black book with chains on it. He dropped it on the table with a loud thump. The book growled and groaned and Chase found himself jumping backward away from it, eyes wide.

"I found it!" The new person cheered, smiling hugely. He bounced on his tiptoes and looked very pleased with himself.

Attor calmed down when the elf? Was that an elf version of him? When the elf entered the room, with the book. "Beautiful, Luc!" He said to Luc. "I knew I could count on you!"

Wilkes sighed. "Suppose that means we have to actually work now."

Luc was nearly glowing under the praise and Chase tilted his head, wrinkling his brow. Hm... so many things about this. He'd have to sort it all out later. Later. Two versions of 'him'? And yet, they were very different. One seemed almost younger? More desperate for approval. A child? The other, an adult 'angel' with a broken wing? Both considered 'Healers'. Who looked up to 'Attor' House as a father figure. But Angel!Chase also made a distinction of Greg House being his partner.

Wilkes took the book which was dangerous, and departed with it, off to 'work'.

"I remembered it from when I was a librarian there a couple of years ago." Luc explained. "Before Sorrento became Head Librarian, I had to sort a bunch of the more dangerous books into the Inner Sanctum for safety reasons. That, was one of them." He nodded. "Of course? This does leave the thought open that, someone out there? Knows how to make this poison, and is using it. I think some kind of general 'health' alert should be issued to warn the public not to leave their drinks uncovered while out and about."

A man in military fatigues, but also wearing a lab coat ducked into the room. He was just starting to bald, and looked vaguely familiar to Chase. He was also wearing a gun strapped to his thigh much like Wilkes had. The uniform he placed as what was worn on Stargate, in general. But the 'character'? He couldn't place yet.

A woman followed him, but rather than military dress, or all in black, she looked like she was ready to jump on a horse and herd cattle. On her, the gun made her look like a gunslinger, and she would be ready to walk into a saloon to cause a ruckus, if it wasn't for the fact that she too had a lab coat on. Firefly! He'd seen her on Firefly!

Military man spoke first. "We've got wounded." He pressed his lips together grimly.

The woman sighed and nodded. "Reports say there was a battle near Hogsmeade. We're not sure whom all was in it. Aurors and Military are on-scene. The Seers are calling for mass destruction... It'll be in days. Not weeks. Not months."

"Days." She repeated.

There was a shimmer and what looked to be Dr. Cuddy in an evening gown appeared before him. She looked him in the eyes and grabbed his shoulders. "Wake up, Chase! Wake up. You have to wake up, or you will not survive. Go back now. Wake up!"

"Jas?" Angel!Chase stood up carefully.

Jas turned to look at him and told him, "It isn't in days. It's now. If he stays much longer, he'll be cut off from his body, and die." She turned back and yelled into Chase's ear. "WAKE UP!" Shaking him.

"Wake up!" He felt someone rubbing on his sternum and he slapped at the hand. "Wake up, Dr. Chase!"

He cracked his eyes open and saw Jas. No... not Jas. Cuddy? Dr. Cuddy? He blinked and looked around the room blearily. "What?" He grumbled, rubbing his eyes. "I was sleeping? What is..." He still felt heavily drugged, but was able to push past it to look around enough to notice House standing nearby, giving him an almost unreadable look.

After a moment, House cleared his throat. "See? I told you, he's fine."

She glared at him from where she was sitting on the side of the bed. "He's not fine. He was barely breathing!"

"You're exaggerating. I've been keeping track of his respiration, and it was still within range. Well, you came and checked on us, so now you can go." House was trying to bundle her off.

"How many Vicodin did you give him?" She demanded, and Chase had a feeling it wasn't the first time she'd asked that.

House pressed his lips together and glared. "He was in pain..."

"I need a new steroid." Chase interrupted. "The not-you in my dream, told me I should have a new steroid. That will help with further attacks."

He wasn't really feeling pain at the moment, due to all the drugs in his body, but he was aware that if it wasn't treated soon, he would be later. He would have figured it out earlier, if it wasn't for the fact that pain clouded his thoughts.

"See? I just told you the same damn thing ten minutes ago. But nooooo you just had to wake him up, and look in my trash cans and smell my breath. Which, is kinky, even for you!" House loomed over her. "Now, will you do what I asked and go get us some more meds for him?"

Cuddy sighed, standing up. "I'll go get the steroids. It's probably swelling, as you say. But, Chase? You know better." She told him, giving House a glare as she passed him. "And so do you." She fairly growled, her heels clicking against the floor.

He waited for the door to click before telling Chase. "Oh, you're right. Definitely a 'daddy-mommy'. Mommy-daddy Wilson called her to come check on us. We're in for a spank, I think." House said in his best 'little boy' voice.

House sat down heavily on the bed and asked. "Okay, what's this about not-you-me-thing?" He squinted at him. "I don't remember giving you LSD..." He trailed off. "Because, I think I would remember doing that!"

"No, but I had very vivid weird arsed dreams." Chase rubbed his hand over his eyes and laughed. "It even had a talking cat named Eileen in it!"

The older man gave a surprise laugh. "No pink elephants? And I was in it?"

Chase shook his head. "No, but apparently a lot of mental issues I have to figure out later when I'm less stoned. Though I think some of them are positive changes. Apparently, I don't need your approval as much anymore. And it wasn't really 'you' in the dream. Just... really hard to explain. But I don't need you as a father figure, and I don't need your approval." He smiled a little, reaching up and laying a hand on House's nearest arm.

In his dream, his broken-angel counterpart had called him 'partner'. He had gone from being a child wanting desperately, the approval of a father figure, to being an adult in an equal relationship. He'd broken 'away' from his 'childish' self, and was making distinctions between Greg and 'dad'. But the history still existed and he wasn't discounting or dismissing it. But he was moving on, which was good! He smiled. He liked that word. Partner. It meant an equal relationship.

"You never did need my approval." House told him, as though telling him a secret. "Any other revelations?"

Chase laughed quietly and smiled. "I'm... going to have to think about it. Most of it, I don't think is stuff you want to know or think about." His smile faded as he remembered the talk of stepdads and Gods of Pain. Fallen Angels, and broken wings. He smiled again and said. "Diagnostics looked like a slumber party?"

House laughed and shook his head. "Damn, your brain is a dangerous place."

"You, have no idea." He chuckled, running his fingertips over House's arm, smiling. "Come here, lay with me till she gets back." He sighed happily, closing his eyes as he enjoyed the feeling of still being packed in cotton and pain free. He opened his eyes again and raised his hand to House's face, tracing a finger down his jaw, feeling the stubble under his finger as he smiled. "Real." He murmured.

House pulled away slowly and Chase closed his eyes as House limped to the end of the bed.

He felt rather than saw House crawl into the bed behind him. "Demanding when you're stoned." House told him, against his shoulder. The man's arms wrapped around him, keeping him warm and anchored in reality.

Chase lifted his own and held them against his chest. "Just like this, yes."

Someday, he'd be able to return the favor... someday. Because they were partners.

-- 


	80. Chapter 80

Turner had known he'd have to take Allison with him when he intended to leave the motel. What he'd not planned was that he'd have to take Wilson and Foreman as well. "This is really not necessary. I do know how to drive." He assured them as they stood in the lobby. "You're being silly."

"This car is rented in my name, and I'm responsible." Wilson said as reasonably as he knew how. "Where it goes, I go. Even if you were House himself, no, especially if you were House. I would insist that I go where the car goes!""

"Besides, how do you reach the peddles?" Foreman asked, arms crossed over his chest and an amused look on his face. "Don't you need a booster seat or something? Extended peddles? How much do you even weigh? There's guidelines for airbags you know. I'm pretty sure that's why you usually sit in the backseat."

Turner refused to rise to the bait and instead turned to Allison. "She could always drive if it is such an issue as to my ability. She's a very good driver."

"No offense to Dr. Cameron, but I rent it, I'm responsible." He repeated. He was not going to budge on this issue. "I'm sorry."

"Well then, I suppose we can try to call a taxi cab." Turner reasoned, checking his watch. "If I call now, maybe I can get there and back before TOMORROW!"

"I'd really just feel better if we all stayed together." Wilson said, hands on his hips, looking down at the floor.

"Why?" Turner questioned bluntly. "I assure you despite being vertically challenged, I am in fact an adult. As is Allison. We do not need babysitters."

"He probably just doesn't trust you." Foreman chuckled. "God knows, I don't."

"What could he possibly think I would be 'up' to. I already told you all that I'm going to go visit a relative that wants a check up, but refuses to leave the house. She's a paranoid shut-in. On second thought, you'd fit right in Wilson!" Turner gave him a bland look. "Seriously, you two, stay here. Snoop through the photo album, the baby books, whatever. And Allison and I will be back in an hour or two. She's a little old lady, she's no threat. I know you're nervous because of the phone call you got this morning. But it was just Noah being Noah. He, unlike others in the family, talks a good game but when push comes to shove? He'll back down first. He's always gotten Greg or one of the others to do his dirty work. He talks it up, gets them riled and then sets them loose. He's wind. Ignore him. All his usual co-conspirators are out of range at the moment. I checked. "

Wilson gave him an unsure look and Cameron crossed her arms meeting his eyes. "We'll be fine." She assured. "I know this situation is really nerve wracking, but I don't think we have anything to worry about. Call Agent Den and let him know you got a threat on your phone, and we'll be back before you know it. Let the desk know as well."

"I still don't like this." Wilson sighed, but was relenting as he looked away. "I've had a bad feeling about this all along."

"I know. But if you go with us? Chances are that Noah will try to get into the motel room and snoop through things. He's nosy and he has it in his head he'd protecting Uncle John and Aunt Blythe. So it is best that someone stay here and protect the boxes. Not to mention, Foreman can always do the 'grrr I'm a crazy black man BOO!' thing and scare him off." Thomas assured as he made a dismissive wave.

Foreman raised both his brows and gave him an incredulous look.

"Yeah, I know. How could anyone be scared of you! But, people are generally stupid and he's among the most ignorant. You'll make him wet himself!" Thomas purposely misunderstood the look causing Foreman to roll his eyes and heave a sigh. "Now, go and ponder the wonder of 'how did something so cute turn out to be such a bastard', like the rest of the world." He shooed at them and pulled out his own cell phone, which was a lot more complicated than most. For one thing, he easily found a 'phone book' online with it, and then called the taxi company.

Wilson and Foreman both frowned at the device and after sharing a look went back upstairs. "Gadgets. They both like their gadgets." Foreman muttered to Wilson.

"Except, House hates cell phones and isn't even willing to pay for call waiting." Wilson pointed out, stepping into an elevator to go back up to their room.

"That's because he doesn't want to risk being called in. He would have a phone like that if it had access to porn." Foreman smirked. "He just hasn't thought about it, is all."

Wilson was laughing as the doors closed.

--

After the steroid and such, he'd ended up sleeping the night through, and when he'd woken he was informed he'd be staying in bed part of the day if not all of it. But he managed to get House to let him have his laptop so he could do a bit of research.

"What are you looking up?" House asked, bored as he came back into the bedroom and sat down. "What does the word Attor mean?"

"The name means venom or poison. I figure I ran across the name at some point while researching once. One of those things that gets lodged in your head for no good reason." Chase explained. "The poison leaves a legacy, though I'm not sure what that means precisely. Or if you would prefer, the venom is throughout the line? Just, not sure. To be honest? I think it is just referring to how one generation affects the next and so on and down the line."

Despite himself, House looked vaguely interesting. "Poisoning is a subject that has come up recently. Not to mention, that poison can have a long term effect, or leave its marks. Such as scarring on different organs. Or leaving traces in a baby's hair."

Chase nodded, agreeing. "Yes, it very well could. Do you know if you have any scarring and such?"

House tilted his chin up and considered the question carefully. "I'm not honestly sure. But even I admit the chances of the infant hair yielding a result we can use is low. If he did poison me, it wasn't with something like say, arsenic. Such exposure would have left me probably brain damaged. But, it may well have been something he 'thought' would be poisonous enough to kill me, or he didn't dose me right, and it was probably just corrosive enough to cause my throat to be raw and my stomach to hurt."

"That's a good point." Chase nodded. "It's wait and see, and well..." He half-shrugged. "Also, there are certain plants that can have the same reaction. Causing sore throat and mouth sores."

He shook his head and then half-shrugged again, dismissing the subject.

"Now, what is the significance of six thousand?" He was watching Chase from the side.

"It really boils down to six. It refers to domestic bliss." Chase felt his face heating up as he said it. He smiled a little, but didn't tell House that despite how fucked up the situation has been? He felt at home there.

"Cats." House squinted. "You're figuring out your dream, aren't you?" He wrinkled his nose and looked like he had a bad taste in his mouth. "You're doing the psychology thing again. I've told you about that!"

"I'm not doing it to youuuu. I'm doing it to ME!" Chase defended himself. "It was such a surreal dream. I find it fascinating."

"You were stoned! It has no meaning. You were stoned! The only meaning is that you should never take LSD! Or anything that might cause hallucinations." House snorted in amusement. "I mean, come on. Elf, angels, talking cats... it's insane!"

"Yes, it was, but I've already figured out some things." He said quietly. "Some of it good, some of it bad." He smiled slightly, looking over at him. "And you can think it is silly all you want? But as long as it makes me feel better? That's all that matters."

House rolled his eyes and stretched out on the bed with an indignant sniff. "I should have expected that from the man that believes in aliens. Were there any aliens in your dream?"

"Weeee, are not discussing this." Chase laughed quietly. He refused to tell House that Dr. Rodney McKay had been in the dream, which was from Stargate which had aliens. Nope! Not telling him.

"Okay, then let's discuss elves. What do they mean, Dr. Freud?" House crossed his feet at the ankles and put his hands behind his head as he looked up at the ceiling. "Besides that you've probably watched Lord of the Rings one too many times!"

"Elves have different meanings, depending on what is going on. They can be considered guides, but they can also mean that you have disharmony in your life and you need to be more carefree and do less worrying. But in the context of the dream, it was a version of myself that was younger, more childlike and needed and wanted a father figure." Chase explained, playing along even though he knew that this wasn't something that House would find believable. It was at least something to talk about.

"Wait, you were the elf?" House laughed, looking at him with amusement.

"Oh, hush..." Chase flushed a little. "I was there in two forms. One a childish form the other more mature and making distinctions between a father figure and... the need for other things. He was able to compartmentalize things and put them in perspective. He was growing up."

"Did you wear green?" House demanded to know, still grinning. "A little hat with a point? Bells on your toes?"

"No. Tweed actually. I looked a bit like a..." He frowned and wrinkled his brow as he thought about it. "A librarian." He shook his head. "No green. Just, smaller, thinner, innocent, and younger. Oh, and pointed ears. Which was the only thing that tipped me off to him being an elf."

"So, you needed a father figure, but now you don't really. But... you said you need to be more carefree and less worrying?" House asked in a leading voice. "Well, then that says... close the laptop and stop working on it!"

"This is not work. This is playing! For me!" Chase said after a moment. In truth, he was just really curious and also bored as hell. This at least kept his mind busy for a short time.

"Okay, now explain this angel crap." House demanded. He turned on his left side, propping his head up on his hand and looking over at him and the computer. The fingers of his right hand were threatening to push buttons and Chase was having to lightly slap them away.

He bit his lip and tilted his head. "To dream that you are an angel means you're feeling pretty good about something you said or did. Well? In my dream, I had been run through with a sword while training to fight. My wing or wings were broken and were being held in a... wrapping? I think that..." He finally said. "I think I've done some good things, and I think I've also done some things I'm not proud of. In the dream I was healing. I was also preparing for war. To defend others, and... it was supposed to be a bloody terrible war." He shook his head. "I think that it is easy to figure out that I consider the trial a war. But if the last words mean anything, I have a feeling that a resolution will come sooner rather than later."

"And Attor also one of these angels? But also considered venom or poison?" House prompted, raising his brows.

"He was an ancestor of Greg House in the dream. He was a fallen angel. His legacy was..." He shook his head. "I'm still working that out. But he said that his children became Healers, Reapers. He was a healer himself, and he'd done good things, but then he fell from grace. But his children still loved him, regardless and looked to him for support. I thought at first that he was you or perhaps even John, but the more I look back on that dream? I don't think he's either. I think he represents the whole father issue itself." He wrinkled his nose. "My father and what I wanted from him. As well as what I sought in you when I was first in your employ. It was a mix. Of old issues. Which, by the way, I no longer really see you like that. I started to break away from that thought process a long while back. By the time you fired me, it wasn't an issue."

"What makes you sure that it isn't my father as well?" House asked, raising his brows. "You said father issues in general. Wouldn't he apply?"

"Because he was bitching about his stepfather being the God of werewolves and pain. I think HE was your dad." Chase shook his head. "Hey, dreams don't have to make complete sense."

House started laughing hard, but he also looked a little disconcerted. "Chase? Your dream didn't make ANY sense!"

"Diiiid to, just more to me than you." He insisted, and then stuck his tongue out. "And this is my game, and I can play it if I want to!"

"Don't stick that out, unless you intend to use it." House chuckled. "Okay, what does werewolves tell us? Why would he be a werewolf?"

"Because it represents something not being what it seems. It is symbolic of fear, repressed anger and uncontrollable violence." Chase told him quietly. He didn't look over at House, because he was afraid of what he would see. Or rather not afraid, but dreaded it all the same.

"Ah." House said quietly. "And the God of Pain is... apparent."

"Mmmhmm." Chase nodded as he scratched his jaw and then tapped his finger against the laptop's buttons without actually pushing them down. "I just think overall it was an anxiety dream. About just, everything. The suggestion to look up astral projection, and before you get that look on your face, I know I didn't do that. It is JUST a theme just like everything else. It is a suggestion to look at things in a 'new' way. To become more free. More comfortable. Relax. Let go of old perceptions, such as the father-figure issues I may have had in the past. And just live in the here and now, and not worry about it. Instead, be more concerned with issues coming up instead of past ones."

"Or alternatively? It means... you were STONED!" House snorted and then laughed again, settling a hand on Chase's hip.

Chase smiled and slapped his arm lightly. "That too. I still can't believe that Cuddy went so far as to smell your breath!"

"Welllll, they tend to think the worst of me sometimes. I let them. It works to my benefit, usually! Now, are you done being Freud?" House asked, reaching out and pushing the button on the laptop, sending it into standby. Then he pushed the lid down. "Because, bored now." He told him. "Besides, your mind is a scary place, and I think its better that I stay out of there for the most part. At least, when it comes to your dreamscapes. If I want that kind of crack I'll read something by Lewis Carroll."

"You're always bored unless we have a case." Chase smiled. "And come on, I'm sure you've had weirder dreams and hallucinations. I heard you 'saw music' at one point a while back."

"That's not true about the cases. It's true about seeing music. And it was cool music!" House walked his fingers from Chase's stomach to his chest, then laid his hand there. It wasn't overtly sexual, and his voice wasn't leering. Instead, it felt to Chase that he was just being 'familiar' and comfortable in his personal space.

Chase smiled at him, laying a hand over his. "Well, how do we unbore you today? You didn't want me to get up, remember?" He pointed out. "Even though research shows that bed-rest is no more helpful for sciatic nerves than watchful waiting."

"Yes, but that's when there isn't a risk of swelling." House pointed out. "This is for your own good." He told him. "And believe me, it is worse torture for me, than it is for you. Because I'm quickly realizing how boring my bedroom really is when there's no physical activity going on in it. I'm tortured!"

"Because you're away from your precious television? You know, you can go into the other room. Unlike others, I'm capable of entertaining myself." He gestured at his puzzle books. Though, he had no intention of doing them unless it was absolutely the only thing left to do. He too was actually bored. He just wasn't going to admit it!

House sighed. "Nothing good on." He flopped backward onto the bed, appearing to be full of woe.

"Watch a movie? A box set?" Chase suggested, amused. He knew that House would give him a negative answer. If House truly wanted to entertain 'himself' he would and could.

"Seen them all." House closed his eyes and pouted. "Nothing good on Tivo either. And I beat all my video games. And Cuddy stole my car and motorcycle keys. She warned me that she's coming to check on us again. I swear, you'd think she was a doctor or something the way she goes on sometimes!"

"Yeah, imagine that! I wonder where she ever got that idea? Read a book?" Chase was trying not to laugh at House. The older man could sound so petulant when he wanted to. And he certainly 'wanted' to right now.

"Read them all." House intoned dramatically. "Every book, magazine, journal and instruction booklet in the apartment. I even read the back of my shampoo bottle. Did you know you're supposed to 'repeat'? I never knew that. Learn something new, every day, that's my motto!"

"I thought your motto was 'everybody lies'." He had a feeling he knew what House really wanted. Chase licked his lower lip and then very carefully said. "Play a game?"

"That's more sage advice." But House had immediately perked up. House leaned over and asked, "Chess?"

Laughing, Chase nodded as he set the laptop itself to the side where it would be safe on the small side table next to the bed. "Okay, Chess... but don't cheat. No stealing pieces and hiding them."

"I do not cheat!" House sniffed with indignation as he quickly crawled off the bed and went to fetch the chess set. "I was winning fair and square."

"Do too and no you didn't." Chase grinned, though he knew it was probably true since at the time he'd also been convinced that there were creatures trying to steal him away! But this would be a nice diversion for a while.

--

Foreman and Wilson were wearing gloves as they looked through the boxes. "Who keeps so much baby clothing, when their 'child' is in their late forties?" Foreman asked, incredulous. "I think my mother kept maybe... one outfit? Maybe two? And that is because they had special meaning to her. This is insane!"

"Mmmmaybe..." Wilson shook his head slowly as he thought about it. "They were all special to her? Or she was just really really REALLY... hopeful?" He sighed to himself. He knew that his own mother had planned for more than one child, therefore kept everything so that she could use them again.

"For more kids? Or grandkids?" Foreman asked, giving up on the clothes for the most part and turning to the books. The clothes would have to be looked at chemically and under vacuumed for trace materials anyway, so there was no point in going through them here.

"Either, or? Probably grandkids. Or alternatively, if she was superstitious she could have believed the wives' tale that if you give away baby clothes, you are doomed to need them again." Wilson picked up the photo-album and opened it as he sat down at the small table. "Hand me that magnifying glass please?"

Foreman did so and then went back to trying to figure out which book came first. "I can honestly understand why parents wouldn't want two Greg Houses. Damn! What did she do? Write down every minute of his day for the first five years? Obsessive much? Now we know the true source of... Ah, think I found the first book."

"He really was a cute little baby. A bit on the thin side though." Wilson peered at one of the early baby pictures in the book. "But the biggest blue eyes. Sometimes, stuff like this makes me reconsider the idea of children. On the other hand? My track record? They'd have to do the divorce-parent two step. Which isn't something I'd want them to go through."

"I don't think any parents plan on divorcing. Can't plan your life on the idea of everything failing. Otherwise, there's no point in planning at all! But, still, it always amazes me how some people can get caught up in baby pictures." He paused, frowning to himself. "Hey, he was adorable... what the hell happened?" He asked as he squinted at the picture. "How DOES someone go from that? To... him!"

"Life, I guess." Wilson muttered as he turned the page. He frowned as he looked at the next page. "I need a consult, Dr. Foreman."

He shifted the book toward Foreman and held out the magnifying glass. "What am I..." He pressed his lips together and shook his head. "I don't know. It's hard to tell in old photos. The coloring..."

"Should there be coloring like that at all? Even if it is off? That is a picture of a baby that is too young to have bitten their lip that badly. Nor should they have been able to fall. That looks like a sore of some kind. Or a burn." Wilson frowned at the photo.

"Could be a cold sore." Foreman offered, still wary about giving a definitive diagnosis.

"You can also see dark circles under his eyes. Now, a baby isn't going to be staying up late at night watching too much television." Wilson pointed out, frowning.

"No, but they can stay up all night with colic and crying fits. Stress can cause an occurrence of cold sores. He probably got it from mommy. It's easy to spread. One good night kiss near the lips..." Foreman theorized. "Need more than that to cry child endangerment or abuse." He told him, going back to the baby book, reading.

"It can be serious and even fatal in infants." Wilson pointed out, shaking his head even as he started looking through more pictures on the next page.

"Occasionally, but keep in mind, House is still alive and kicking. He's fine. You don't have to save the infant in that photo. He's not in the clinic in pain." Foreman said almost kindly. "If that's a cold sore? He is in good company with millions of other people. And he's alive and annoying us from across the country. He's fine!"

"He looks dehydrated in some of these. Overly tired." Wilson commented. "Yes, yes, I know... colic." He rubbed his head, trying to keep Foreman's words in mind. This was not a picture of a child that 'needed' him in the here and now. But he still had that impulse to want to 'help'.

"She even uses the old 'dear diary' method." Foreman made a small noise as he read through the book in front of him. He was quiet for a few minutes and then made a low whistling noise. "Wonder what House will think of mommy dear when he reads this?"

"What? Why?" Wilson looked up, in surprise from where he was carefully inspecting another picture of baby-House.

"Mommy was a wild one when she was young. Seemed that John House wasn't the only one she dated back in California. And these? Aren't baby books." Foreman chuckled darkly. "These are her diaries from when she and John were dating."

"Oooooooooohhhhh." Wilson was trying not to show all the interest he truly had. But he was nearly ready to grab the journal out of Foreman's hands to read it himself.

"Every generation thinks they came up with the idea. But nope, being a player has been around since the beginning." Foreman said with vague amusement. "She was juggling three boyfriends according to this entry. She was trying to make sure she could make each date without them realizing it. Allllll Marines."

Wilson raised his brows and slowly grinned. "We sometimes forget there was life before they became parents, but oooooo, this sounds good!"

Foreman flipped through a few months. "John asked her to marry him, so he won. But hmmmm..." He flipped back a few pages. Read a few minutes and then said. "Ah, he'd found out about one of the ex-boyfriends, so that's why he wanted them to move away. Keep her away from rivals. She found it flattering."

"Flattering? Possessive more like it." Wilson scoffed. "Or not trusting. And if he doesn... didn't trust her..."

Foreman nodded in agreement. "On the other hand? They've been married about fifty years?So they must have worked it out."

He flipped through pages, scanning through them and eventually came to something he decided to read more in-depth. "Ohhhh, this was what led to one of those fights that caused them to get the police called on them. John accused her of flirting with some guy at the grocery store."

"Did she do it?" Wilson asked, eager for the gossip, as usual. This was even better than when House brought him some tidbit. Because this was basically from the 'horse's mouth'.

"Ahhh, she says it was a misunderstanding. But it sounds more like she's trying to convince herself of it, more than anything. She wasn't going to 'follow up' with it, and it was just nice to have some attention. Seems John can... could... be kind of distant." Foreman winced at his own stumble over the tense. He was having to remind himself as well that this was all far far in the past.

"She was a flirt." Wilson smiled a little. He frowned a second later. "Did she say if he hurt her?"

"Says here, he spanked her, but not before she went through half the dishes throwing them at his head. She admits that she lost her temper, but she didn't like him calling her names. She let herself 'get carried away' and thus 'probably deserved it'." Foreman shook his head slowly. "I'mmmmm kind of torn. I say they were both in the wrong and stupid."

"I'll buy that." Wilson nodded. He raised his brows, biting his lip. "Um... anything more in that volume?" He asked.

"I'll let you know." Foreman promised as he started paging through the book again.

This was turning out to be more fun than either man had thought possible. Of course, neither would admit it was fun. Oh, no. That would be inappropriate!

--

Thomas took a deep breath and knocked again. As hard as he could while also holding the button of the door bell down. "Aunt BETTY!" He yelled through the door. "I know you're in there! You never leave home!"

Then quieter he muttered. "Don't be dead. I don't have time for that kind of paperwork and investigation."

"You don't really think..." Cameron's eyes were wide as she started to ask.

He hammered harder on the door. "Aunt BETTY!" He yelled, putting his face closer to the door.

The house was a small box in an older neighborhood. The yard was cut so low, it was scalped. He imagined that it was cut by someone regularly, whether it needed it or not. Her house had siding instead of being painted, and therefore would need very little upkeep. Her garage was nearly empty, from what he could see through the windows. An old car was inside, but it looked in almost cherry condition, probably because the old lady didn't drive anymore. The garage was padlocked.

There were bars on some of the windows and prickly plants under all of them. There was also no welcome mat. The house seemed to scream 'stay away'.

"Who is it?" A small voice asked from the other side, wavering slightly in fear.

"It's your nephew, Thomas! I talked to you two days ago." Thomas breathed a sigh of relief and said quietly to Allison. "Oh, good. Last thing we need is the FBI making us stick around while they investigate a relative kicking off."

"Who?" The little old lady asked again, still through the door.

"Your nephew. Thomas." He spoke as loudly and clearly as he could. "Tommy Turner?"

"Do you have ID?" She asked after a long moment. He hit the door with his forehead and groaned.

He rolled his eyes and opened his wallet putting it near the spy hole for her to look through. "Did I mention she's paranoid?" Thomas asked Allison a few seconds before the door opened a crack. The chain was still in place as the old woman peeked out at them, taking no chances.

"Who is the girly?" She asked, giving Allison a critical eye. "Is she holding a gun on you?"

"Aunt Betty! This is Doctor Allison Cameron. She works in the same hospital I do. Aunt Betty? Are you going to let us in? Or should I call the cab back so I can at least get a decent nap in?" He asked bluntly. "Because I so do not have time for your ridiculous paranoid delusions of persecution today!"

The door closed slowly and then he heard the chain finally come off. The little old lady shuffled to the side as she opened the door again and let them in. He walked in and then blinked as though he'd run into a wall. "God! Old people smell!" He declared. "Have you ever considered... oh, I don't know? Opening a window?" He demanded. "Circulating some air?"

"That's how they get in." She told him mysteriously, holding on to a large ornate cross hanging from her neck. "They're skinny you know. Like your girly here."

He looked behind him to see Allison raising her brows and starting to look vaguely amused.

"They who? Should I put sandwiches out and try to feed them so they'll get fat enough they can't get in? Hey, you should eat a sandwich too. What are you? Eighty-five pounds?" He asked, going into the living room.

It was dark inside, the heavy curtains blocking out all the sun. The air felt stagnant and smelled stale. It was hot inside, despite the weather outside being somewhat cool.

He looked at a candy dish that was sitting on the table and out of curiosity reached out to look at it. The hard candy was firmly cemented to each other, and he wondered how many years it had been sitting there. He had vague memories of being a child and standing right there, being offered some of this very candy. Or rather, this type of candy. Always the same. Ribbon candy, he thought it might be called. At least, he hoped this wasn't the same candy from years ago. That was a whole 'nother level of 'gross', he decided.

The room itself was rather tidy, but there was nothing in there that wasn't at least twenty years old. Even the small television in the corner was ancient. Rabbit ears, as he'd always called them, were connected to the back of it to try and bring in the local stations. She would, of course, have no use for cable.

"Aunt Betty? When was the last time you went outside?" He asked the old woman that was nearly skeletal in appearance, her skin like weathered leather. She wore a hairnet on her thin gray hair which was tightly curled and clung to her head, and her house coat was a dingy gray color, though it was clean and also tidy. Her slippers were of the same over-washed color. She also wore nylon stockings that only went to her knees.

"Oh, no, no... if you go outside, they'll get you." She insisted, sitting down on the old settee.

"Who is 'they', Aunt Betty?" He asked again as he pushed over a footstool so that he could sit on it for the exam.

"Criminals." She told him in a low voice. "Little hooligans. Thiiiiieves." She tapped the side of her nose. "You leave one window open? And they'll break in! Go outside, and that's asking to be mugged! I read the paper. I know what is going on out there!"

"Uh huh." Thomas clicked his tongue. "You're a loony old fruit bat, aren't you?" He asked.

"Thomas!" Allison's jaw dropped open, but Thomas could see the hint of amusement in her eyes.

"Like you weren't thinking something like it." He told her, opening one of the two cases he brought with him.

"I... not in..." Allison stumbled over her words and then cleared her throat. "I'm sorry, ma'am..." She started to apologize, but the old woman talked over her.

Aunt Betty just pursed her lips. "Don't think I don't know what you've been up to Thomas Cedric Turner!" She shook her finger at him. "Little Noah called earlier this morning to tell me you have ransacked Blythe and John's house. So don't think for a moment I'm going to let you steal from ME!"

Turner raised both eyebrows this time. "Ransacked... Aunt Betty? The FBI went through the house, and we had permission from Aunt Blythe to pick up some boxes of stuff." He explained in an irritated voice. "You have absolutely nothing I would want. Nor do they."

"Hm, that's what they all say." She said her thin arms over her chest. "Poor John. I knew that boy was going to be the death of him."

"Aunt Betty? Uncle John is still very much alive. I assure you." He said in a bored manner. "Do you want me to take a look at you, or not? Because if not? I want to go back to the hotel and try to enjoy my 'day off'. I have much better things to do than give a senile, paranoid, crazy would-be-cat-lady-if-not-allergic old woman an exam!"

"You always have been disrespectful." She sniffed unhappily, looking perfectly miserable and put-upon.

"Yeah, and you've always been insane, but I rarely hold it against you." He pointed out. "Now? Are we done with theatrics? I want to get out of here before the smell of ancient tomb seeps into my pores!"

She once more sniffed primly and sighed heavily. "I suppose. But I promise that if anything happens to me or this house? You are already named a suspect. You and your girly."

"Girly has a name, Aunt Betty." He said as he took out his equipment. "It's Allison Cameron."

"Who names their child with a first name that ends in a 'on' when their last name already ends in an 'on'." Betty complained even as her blood pressure was being taken.

"Her parents were on crack. You should get to know them! Maybe they'll share with you." He offered. "Because the crack you're on? Not what I would recommend."

Allison made a scoffing noise, giving him another half-disbelieving and half-amused look. "They are not! I was named after a relative."

"You have two first names basically." Thomas argued, though he had the slightest trace of a smile on his lips.

Betty meanwhile was scowling. "You've forgotten all about Eve due to this trollop, hm?" She demanded to know, even as he was starting to listen to her lungs. "Poor Eve, rotting in the ground while her beloved husband runs off with some young thing..."

He paused and his face closed off, darkening as he looked up at the old woman. "I have never forgotten about Eve. But I don't have to defend myself to you." He told her coldly. "What I do with my life? My business. Shut up, now!"

"Cheeky little..." She muttered, glaring at him even as he started to check inside her ears.

"Is it possible at all to have some damn light in here?" He demanded in irritation, looking up at the ceiling.

"It runs up the bill!" She insisted.

And so it went for the next hour as he examined her to the best of his ability. Until finally he was using the scope he'd brought with him. He was surprised she didn't fight harder on the subject, but then, she had requested this exam. Therefore, she had to be worried on some level.

When he was finished, he asked Allison for a 'consult' and she looked at the picture on the monitor with him. "She needs a biopsy." She agreed.

"What does that mean?" Betty frowned. "Does that mean you want me to go to one of those hospitals and let them cut into me? Forget it! Isn't there a medicine or something?" She crossed her arms over her chest once more and sat back up.

"Unless we're sure what it is, and keeping in mind I don't have permission to work in the local hospitals, there is no way I could prescribe for you. You need a biopsy for that." He informed her as he put things away and threw away his gloves.

"You think I have cancer, don't you?" She said quietly.

"I never said that." He said harshly. "But a biopsy would tell us precisely what it is. Maybe we should have brought Wilson after all." He admitted the last quietly to Allison. Louder, he said. "I don't really think it is cancer, Aunt Betty."

"But, it could be that it will still need to be removed. It would make you far more comfortable, and we'd know for sure." Allison tried to tell her kindly.

"If it isn't cancer, then there's nothing to worry about." The old lady said stubbornly.

"There's many other things in the world that..." Thomas started.

"If it isn't cancer. Then I'm not going to worry about it." She stressed.

"Oh, for crying out loud. Do I have to kidnap you, have you declared senile and then drag you to a hospital?" He asked in frustration.

"You just try it young man, and I'll give you what for!" She swore, shaking a finger at him.

He pressed his lips together and used his phone to call for a cab, and then stood. "Aunt Betty? Do the right thing, and go get seen by a doctor that can actually do tests around here and treat you."

She made a hmmfp noise and turned away, picking up her newspaper and looking at it with a magnifying glass.

"Fine... have it your way." Thomas spat as he stomped out, carrying both cases. Cameron hurrying to keep up with him. "Stupid old bitch."

"We can't just leave her here like this." She insisted, following him outside, gesturing behind them.

"Yes, we can." He disagreed. "We can't force her to the hospital, despite what I said about kidnaping her. She's stubborn. There's nothing more I can do. Other than rat her out to the rest of the family, and I can't really do that either."

"That could be cancerous." Cameron said desperately, gesturing behind them to the door which had been locked behind them.

"Yes, it could." He agreed. "And it doesn't matter one way or another." He added quietly. "Because if it is cancer? She won't have it treated, because she believes the treatment is worse than the disease. If it isn't cancer? Then she doesn't believe anything else could possibly worse."

Thomas frowned at her expression. "Allison? Don't take it too... hard." He said awkwardly.

"I just." She broke off, looking down. "It just seems so. What is the point? What was the point in her calling you here?"

He shook his head. "Hoping it was something she could take a pill for." He shrugged a shoulder.

"It just seems so pointless." She said sadly, wrapping her arms around herself.

"I know. But there is nothing we can really do." Thomas shook his head. "And to start a fight now, with everything going on? Isn't going to make it better. It will just make things worse in the long run."

The cab pulled up, and Thomas started down the stairs, Cameron following much slower. He saw the curtains ruffle and made a small noise of disdain. "I bet she has binoculars to watch her neighbors and the mysterious 'they' that will steal her doilies."

He held the door open for Allison and then climbed in himself. Then carefully, took her hand, squeezing it. "It did have one point. She'll prepare. And that is more than she's probably done till now."

She didn't say anything, but she held his hand tightly, and he knew she heard. The problem was, that he knew it didn't make her feel any better.

--

"Cuddly... I mean, Cuddy!" House greeted her at the door. "Back so soon?"

"I told you I was coming back, House." She told him as she stepped around him and gestured for someone in the hall to follow her. Her suit was rather somber, and did not reveal the cleavage that House swore she always used to lull him him into distraction.

House stepped back and gave her a dark look as he saw the man with the sandy hair, glasses, and more importantly... baggage. "I just got RID of a bunch of people. You're not supposed to be bringing MORE!" He gave her a dirty look for good measure.

"Awwww, you won't even notice I'm here!" RJ promised, an overnight bag over his shoulder, and a small suitcase in his other hand. "I'll be as quiet as a mouse!"

"I've had rodents before, they're LOUD. VERY LOUD. Especially at night!" House glared. "Cuddy? What do you think you're doing?" He demanded as she showed RJ to the living room and then the kitchen. "I don't recall there being tours of my apartment! How much are you making? A dollar a tour? Is there a lunch with this outing? Where is my cut?"

"RJ is familiar with you, and for some clearly insane reason, he likes you and Chase. He's also off this weekend, which makes him perfect for babysitting you two and keeping you from killing yourselves or each other!" She informed him. "I need to be able to work, so I can't do it. But I worked it out with him to look after you till Wilson is back."

"Never fear! RJ is here!" RJ cheered, putting his overnight bag in a corner out of the way. "Ohhhhh niiiiice pianoooooo!"

"Do NOT touch that!" House called out, eyes widening slightly. "Cuddy... don't do this!"

"It is done. Now, RJ?" She turned to the other man, smiling sweetly. "Call me if you have any problems with them."

"I shouldn't have any, but will do!" He saluted her, and then spun on his heel to go to the kitchen and scout out the fridge and cabinets.

House hurried after Cuddy. "You can't do this! This is my apartment. You can't just-just-bring people here and drop them off! I'm not running a shelter for lost... whatever he is!"

"It's either this, or? I bring you two back with me to the hospital. Your choice." She told him, hands on her hips.

He glared at her and told her. "You're a mean daddy-mom." Then enjoyed the look of utter confusion on her face. The pure what the HELL are you talking about, as she gaped at him. Seconds, before he shut the door on her.

Snorting in amusement, House turned and went to break the news to Chase. They had a babysitter. On the plus side? Maybe RJ knew how to cook! House was starved.

--

They heard the hammering on the door and then looked at each other warily. "There's a peep hole I think?" Foreman told Wilson after a second. But Wilson didn't seem eager to go see to the door.

Foreman waited a moment and then shook his head while rolling his eyes. He pushed himself to his feet and went to the door. "Who is it?" He asked through the wood and peering through the small peep hole. "Aw, hell no!" He grumbled. "I'm calling the front desk!" He hollered through the door.

"I just wanted to talk to you." Noah said through the door, sounding almost desperate. "I'm not here to cause problems or to hurt anyone. I just need to talk to you!"

"We don't talk to people that threaten us through cell phones." Wilson was already dialing his cell phone for help even as Foreman was talking to Noah through the door. "9-... 1-..."

"Just a moment!" Noah called out. "That was totally out of context! I didn't mean what he thinks I meant."

"Okay! ONE! You're in for it now, buddy." He was peeking through the hole and snorted as the man disappeared from sight. "What do you know? Sucker run off like Turner said he would."

"I'm still calling Agent Den. Telling him... Hello? Agent Den? Yes, I'm sorry to bother you, but we've just had another run in with Noah House? He called this morning as you may recall me telling you? Well, he was just at our motel door just now. You will? Thank you! We really appreciate this!" Wilson sighed in relief as the other man hung up. "He'll take care of it."

"You know? I used to think that House had to be the odd one in his family? You know, the one that turned out messed up? But now? Now I think he might be the most normal one in his family. This is truly sad." He said as he shook his head and sat down.

Wilson's cell phone rang and he cautiously picked it up to see what the number might be before answering it. "Hello? Cuddy?" He relaxed as he heard the woman's voice. "What? Uhhhh... no. I... I have no idea why he would call you daddy-mom. Yes, it does seem odd. But, I don't think it is related to his concussion. I think he only said it to throw you off. Well? Did it? Then it totally worked. He's probably snickering on the other side of the door right now."

"You did what? Well... I approve. That seems the best solution. Let's just hope RJ survives. Yes, we'll be back tomorrow." He told her. "We will. Good luck. I seriously wouldn't worry about it. No, you're not. Lisa? He's messing with your mind. You are a beautiful woman. Just think back of all the times he's stared at your backside and at your blouse. Yes, I'm sure. No, I don't think he has brain damage. He's just screwing around. I'm sure. Yes... I'll see you then."

He hung up and then started to quietly laugh while Foreman gave him incredulous looks. "He called her daddy?" He asked.

"Apparently!" Wilson laughed. "I didn't tell her that Chase once called me 'Mommy-daddy'. And I think, though don't quote me on this. But I think that is why House called her 'daddy'. If I'm 'mommy-daddy, because I'm permissive. Then she would be the disciplinarian and the one that says no all the time."

"Therefore, the daddy to your mommy. The... daddy-mommy?" Foreman reasoned. "I seeeee..." He raised his brows. "That is seriously messed up."

Wilson nodded sagely. "Yes, but look at the sources?"

"Good point." Foreman laughed as he got comfortable and started paging through the journal in front of him.

--

As Turner and Cameron stepped out of the cab, Noah ran past quickly. He didn't even stop long enough to say anything to the two doctors as he made his escape. Not even one insult! "What the hell?" Turner furrowed his brow in confusion.

The balding man was gone by the time Agent Den's car pulled up within the next few seconds. Cameron gave him a startled look and pointed in the direction that Noah had just disappeared. "Um... he went thattaway?" She sounded rather confused, but so was Turner at this point.

"Never heard someone actually use that phrase. But thanks!" Den was already running on foot while his partner got behind the wheel of the car, in pursuit of the fleeing cousin.

"What the hellllll is going on?" Turner muttered as he turned away from the newest fiasco and went into the motel. "We'll go to Foreman and Wilson's room." He decided. "They can tell us what is going on." He was sure of that.

There was the sound of sirens outside as the entered the lobby and then the elevator. "Huh." Turner squinted at the doors as they closed. "Well. Intereeesting." More police cars were pulling up outside!

"What is interesting?" Allison asked. "I mean, besides karma biting Noah?"

"Because Noah isn't usually THIS stupid." Turner explained as the elevator rose and then let them out one floor up. Carrying the cases, he stepped out and went straight to Wilson and Foreman's door, knocking on it. "It's us!" He called out, so that they would know it was safe to open.

Wilson opened the door, and looked into the hallway before waving them in and then shutting the door firmly behind them, locking it.

"If you're worried about Noah? He has a pissed off FBI agent, and a couple of cops chasing him right now." Turner told them blandly. "What did he do, exactly? I know that he tried to threaten you this morning, disguising his voice and using a pay phone. But what is the latest? Did he try to force his way in?"

"Not really, just knocked on the door and asked us to let him talk to us. But we told him to go away or we were calling Den. He hung around just a minute too long." Foreman answered, looking up from the journal.

"He's not usually this stupid." He repeated what he'd said in the elevator. "That means, he honestly believes he's protecting something of Aunt Blythe's. I think she must have called him, and asked him to stop us from taking something specifically."

"I have an ideaaaa of what that might be." Foreman scoffed and then smiled. "Wasn't just baby books in there. Her personal journals are mixed in too. She probably realized where she'd stored them and then freaked out. Asked him to watch what we took and keep us from taking them with the rest. But she wouldn't have wanted to call direct attention to them either."

Allison's eyes widened. "What do they say?" She hurried over, looking down at them.

"So far? Mama House liiiiiiked the guys." Foreman said in amusement. "She liked the attention. Papa House on the other hand? Jealous. She wasn't a saint, and I have a feeling she doesn't want her boy to read about her not so wonderful exploits."

"Did she cheat on him?" Turner asked, a little surprised himself by the information.

"Ahhh, not yet that I have read. But I'm not that far in. It's no wonder House has the flair for the dramatic." He snorted, holding up the book. "But I'm to the part where she meets John's relatives. And she finds some of his relatives very... fascinating... and charmmmming... and handsommmmme." He dragged out the words, batting his eyes and trying to sound like a girl.

Turner's lips twitched into a small smile. "Which one? Come on, tell me. Give!"

Foreman clicked his tongue. "I feel like there should be a drum roll."

"Foreman..." Turner growled.

"A certain 'Uncle Lee'." Foreman looked extremely amused, and laughed silently.

Turner's brows couldn't go any higher, and Cameron was openly gaping. "Oh, my..."

Foreman nodded slowly, still looking utterly pleased. "If she was writing this today? She'd probably be writing that he was hot. With the two t's. Or possibly as H-A-W-T. She was very teenybopperish back then. But he was in his forties, and apparently still good looking. Was a widower. And HE liked the ladies. A lot."

"Ohhhhhhhh, this is a recipe for bad things." Wilson covered his eyes, and leaned back in his seat, then peeked out. "Verrrrrrry bad things. And the way they went at each other in the waiting room? There was a lot of um... well... venom. That kind of anger, I should have known there was deep roots to it."

"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned." Wilson added after a moment. Foreman was back to reading when there was a knock on the door.

"It's Agent Den." They heard through the door as Turner went to open it. The agent stepped in and offered them a small tight smile. "We have Mr. House in custody, though he claims he did nothing wrong. That he never made the call this morning, and that he just wanted to talk to you all. Is it all right if we bring him in here and give him the chance to ask whatever it is that is so important?"

"Um... sure?" Wilson raised his brows, looking at the others in confusion. "I... guess?"

"I'll be here, as well." Den told them, a calculating look on his face. "I'd like to hear what was so important myself. And, it better be good, at this point. Especially after making me run!"

He stepped into the hallway and then gestured to his partner. Noah stepped in a second later, hands behind his back while the other unnamed man guided him in. "Well, you said you wanted to talk to them. Nice and friendly like, well here we all are! Nice and friendly. Start talking." Den's voice had been friendly until the last sentence, and then it turned dark and serious.

"It's also kind of private." Noah hedged, looking down and away from everyone. Unable to meet anyone's eyes and looking as though he were facing a firing squad.

"Let me cut the crap." Foreman offered, crossing his arms back over his chest as he looked down his nose at Noah. "Did your aunt call you before we got here and ask you to run interference and make sure we didn't get allllll the books in the baby book box?" He asked. "Sayyyy, her personal diaries?"

The look on Noah's face spoke volumes.

"Ooops, too late. We already know that your Auntie is no angel. She was a normal hot blooded young girl once. With hormones, and desires, and hot-to-trot! So, too late, so sorry, and you can stop making an idiot of yourself." Foreman continued, giving him a vaguely annoyed look.

Noah pressed his lips together, tilted his head back and sighed. Defeated.

"That's what you were so worried about?" Den asked, clearly annoyed. "Get him out of here." He told his partner, and put his hands back on his hips as he watched the other man get dragged out again.

Den was quiet and then slowly turned around, giving them all level looks. Considering looks. "All right, folks. What is going on?" He asked them. "You're not just picking those up for your friend. OR for Blythe House. You're wearing gloves, and you're inspecting the pictures. What are you four investigating?"

Den idly strolled up to the table, looking down at the photo album that Wilson was working with. He picked up the magnifying glass and held it to the picture that Wilson was studying. "You four are doctors. I also have learned that Greg House employs a method that tends to mirror investigative procedure and that you often look for things that can be considered trace evidence. What are you looking for in these?" He nodded.

The four doctors each looked at one another. "Um, are we in trouble?" Wilson asked quietly.

Den looked them over again and then shook his head. "No. Not if you tell me what it is you're looking for, and what it is that you've found so far." He pulled a chair closer and sat down in it. "What is in this picture, for instance, that I'm missing?"

"Well..." Wilson took a deep breath and said. "At first, in the earlier pictures, it appears that the infant has a cold sore, dehydration, and what people would call 'bags' under the eyes. The child looks cranky and unhappy. But the more I look at some of these pictures, I'm starting to think that is not a cold sore, but rather a burn of some kind. Possibly a chemical burn. Also, he looks rather anorexic." He admitted reluctantly. "If you look at these pictures, this one in particular? You can see the child with his mouth open, crying loudly one can assume. If you look carefully? You can see that the gums are inflamed and has a sore... right there."

Foreman interrupted and said. "But it could still be a severe case of oral herpes." He insisted. "We don't want to jump to conclusions. And the chances that the baby hair that we have in our possession will yield a result we can use is very very slim. As well as the clothing itself. It was all washed after all. As was the bun-bun and woob-blanket."

"Usually, cold sores are characterized by small blisters. These are starting to look more like..." Wilson protested.

"It isn't like those pictures are a day by day presentation. He could have had the blisters, and they were reduced..." Foreman argued in return. "The only way to have gotten a definitive answer, would be to have a one-on-one exam with the child, and get a closer look. And unless someone has a time machine? That's just not going to happen."

"The scarring would have faded by now as well. Though there have been cases of people still dealing with health issues, twenty years down the line. Longer as some are living and still dealing with consequences. But the problem is, we'll never be able to prove anything. This is mostly to satisfy curiosity for House." Cameron explained to Den. She turned to Foreman. "Have you gotten that far in the journals? Did Blythe detail any other symptoms?"

"Not yet, I was still reading about her meeting the rest of John's family. She had the hots for Lee back then. Something I'm sure you could understand, Cameron!" Foreman teased, smirking as he did so. With a soundless chuckle, he set the journal down and shook his head in amusement.

"What? I... Lee is in his nineties!" She protested, eyes wide. She looked both embarrassed and aghast. "He's a sweet sweet old man. But I assure you, I did not have designs on him!"

"Not him. House. Greg House. HE is in his forties, around the same age Lee was back then. They look a lot alike, so he probably looked pretty much the same then!" Foreman snorted. "And youuuuu had that huge crush on House the first couple of years. Remember?"

She sighed, rolling her eyes as her shoulders slumped. "I'll never live that down."

"Nope." Foreman agreed cheerfully.

"Find the journal that starts with House's birth? Her commentary in the journals might be more insightful than the baby records she kept. I'm sure she kept them sanitized and then wrote the truth in her personal journals." Turner suggested, already pulling on gloves. Cameron was also putting her glasses on and then pulling on a pair of gloves as she started to handle the books gingerly.

Den had a trace of a smile on his face as he watched everyone argue things back and forth. Possible diagnosis for a boy that had long since grown up, it was amazing. He reached over to the box, taking out a pair of gloves and putting them on as well.

Without another word, Turner handed him yet another journal, and they all got to work.

-- 


	81. Chapter 81

Agent Den had his partner bring in a large board, which was very familiar to Foreman, Cameron, and Wilson. Surprisingly, when Den said that House used a technique familiar to those that investigated crimes, he wasn't kidding.

"What have we learned so far?" He asked them, almost seeming to enjoy himself. "Willcox. Turn down the heat, please?" He asked his partner. Den had ended up rolling his sleeves up and loosening his tie. His sports jacket was hanging over the back of a chair, and his short brown hair was slightly mussed from running his fingers through it as he paced back and forth. All in all though, he had the air of a man that was having a good night. He may very well have been playing pictionary with them from the way he enthusiastically gestured with his pen.

The other man nodded, doing so without comment. Of the two of them, Willcox rarely spoke, leaving Den to speak for both of them most the time. He was shorter, stocker, with reddish brown hair that was thinning on top. He had also lost the sports coat and was looking rather overheated as beads of sweat started to roll down the sides of his head.

"We know that in the beginning, John and Blythe had a bit of a rocky marriage. It appears that he married her because he was possessive and was staking a claim when he found out that she was seeing other guys." Allison offered, holding up one of the first journals they had looked through. "They had fights that shook the foundations and scared the neighbors to the point that they would call the police. She never filed charges, and he was released."

"We know that she was also a massive flirt." Wilson chuckled, leaning back in his seat. "She flirted with bag-boys, male cashiers, and anyone that paid attention to her longer than two minutes. It made her feel wanted and attractive."

"Yeahhhh, you wouldn't know anything about that." Turner smirked at Wilson.

"I do not flirt with every woman I meet!" Wilson swore.

"Would you like a moment by moment dissection of a typical day at the hospital?" Turner asked him, giving him a blank and almost innocent look. "I have notes in my laptop if you would like."

Wilson's mouth dropped open and he looked at him in shock. "Why in the world would you be studying my... flirtation behavior!"

"Because it is interesting to watch and compare the mating and courtship rituals of those at the hospital." Turner gave him an annoyed look, as though it should be obvious why he would do such a thing. Of course, he wouldn't reveal that he was trying to figure out what was usual and considered normal. Not that he'd actually engage in such and do it. But it would be nice to know what others thought was the norm!

"You are very creepy." Wilson told Turner seriously.

"I get that a lot." Turner admitted with a nod.

Foreman raised his brows and shook his head slightly. "We can discuss the mating and courtship habits of the domesticated doctor later. Right now? Let's get back to the case! We know that she had the hots for Lee House. What we DON'T know is if she got to do the horizontal mambo with him." Foreman offered. "We only know that by the end of the visit in question, Sarah wanted to strangle her, and the feeling was mutual. And that Lee was 'distant', and that Blythe was regretful of that. We also know that Lee and John were on the outs as well. But she didn't detail it, and was vague. Meaning, she was embarrassed and probably didn't want to admit it herself."

On the board, Den wrote, 'rocky marriage, flirt-wife, potential affair- DNA test?'

Wilson winced, obvious reluctance on his face. "I... don't know if that is such a good idea. Lee House is dying. He doesn't have much time left. If House was to learn that his favorite Uncle was really his biological father? I hate to think what that would do to him. He has enough issues as it is!"

Turner nodded, reluctantly agreeing. "It would solve nothing for Greg to learn such. All it would do is give him yet something more to be bitter about. He has a laundry list of grievances without adding this one to the board!"

Allison on the other hand had a different opinion, of course. No one was too surprised when she objected. "On the other hand? If we suspect, and don't tell him? And then he finds out later? He will feel betrayed by us. He will be angry, at us, for not telling him!"

Wilson rubbed his head, nodding. He looked miserable as he did so. His first instinct was always to try and protect House. Even if it was from himself. But there didn't seem to be a good way of going about that this time. Not that he'd ever accomplished protecting anyone from anything when it came down to it. "There's that too. I hate this situation, all the way around. I remember him telling me that if it was him, he'd want to know. Back when we knew that Chase's dad was dying, and had been told not to tell him. House ended up not telling him, but never told me why he didn't go with his instinct to do so."

Den offered a sympathetic nod, an expression to match on his face. "It isn't my intention to upset him. I can't even imagine how painful that would be. To find all that out, and realize that everything was a lie. But what if...? We could always run the tests without his knowledge? It isn't exactly 'ethical' but considering the circumstances..."

He looked vaguely surprised when all four doctors gave agreement in varying tones of enthusiasm, rather loudly. "We'll do it that way. I'm pretty sure I can get a sample of Lee's DNA from House's apartment, especially since I doubt that House has taken the garbage out." Wilson told them. "And it is very easy to get House's."

"I'll run the samples." Foreman volunteered, lifting his hand briefly. "I don't have any important cases at the moment. I have the time. I'm covered for Monday and not expected back till Tuesday. If they come back not a match, then we never even have to worry about this. If it does? We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

"I get the feeling you all have done this before." Den chuckled, he had his hands on his hips, watching them. He liked them. He'd already decided that. They were the kind of people he could easily work with. Smart. Thought outside the box. Quick. They also had a sense of when to bend the rules and throw out the rule book, and then when to adhere to it. He liked that a lot. Shame they weren't actual agents. He'd work his ass off to get them transferred to his cases.

"A time or two." Wilson nodded, a slightly abashed look on his face. "Usually though, it's House that is ordering the tests. But yeah. His belief which is unfortunately true in most respects is that 'Everybody lies'. You just can't always trust what a patient is telling you. They lie to protect themselves, others, or sometimes, just because they are embarrassed. There are patients that will continue to lie, even if it means they will die as a result! House doesn't like to let their pride stand in the way of his puzzles. So, sometimes, you have to go behind their backs and..." He trailed off as he shrugged.

"Investigate without their knowledge." Den nodded, finishing the thought out. "It's true. Even if you try to pin them down, they're just going to tell you what they think they can get by with. And it will always be a bias account to make themselves look in the clear. Even her diaries, she rationalizes, excuses, or glosses over anything that will make her look 'too bad' in her own mind. I can see where a medical mystery would need to be investigated much as a criminal investigation would be. Though I imagine that there are more risks, since you don't get the joy of 'search warrants'." He grinned.

"Usually we end up with a bet or two riding on it as well. Makes it a bit more worth our wile sometimes." Foreman gave them all a considering look, arms crossed over his chest. "I'd hate to ruin tradition."

"That's true. Hundred dollar bet?" Wilson asked, looking around to see the other three doctors nod in agreement. "I bet... positive match. Everything else in this fiasco has been running to the melodramatic. If House was watching this on his television, we'd never get him to go to work. General Hospital would take a backseat!"

"I'll take negative." Turner told them, putting a hundred dollar bill on the table. "Surely she wasn't that stupid. Lee and his brother Johnny looked a lot a like. Greg could also look like his granddad... not just his Uncle. Granddad was just bulkier. But Oma was thin as hell too. Besides, I have to be contrary. It's my nature."

Foreman looked at the money in consideration. He wiped his fingers down around his mouth, smoothing down the facial hair around his lips. "Hmmm, I'm going to bet negative as well." He decided, opening his wallet and laying his money down beside Turner's. Wilson by this point had also put his money in the pot as well. The three men looked up at Cameron expectantly.

Allison clicked her tongue and then laid her money down as well. "Sorry, Tom, but I'm going to bet that he is. I'm betting match. House's life is a soap opera, as Wilson said. So, of course it is going to be a match! Which will make this even more heartbreaking in a month or two." She sighed sadly. "Poor House."

"Cameron holds the money until we determine the results!" Wilson voted, the other three agreed, and she pocketed the money for later. It would be safe with her. "Now, back to work?"

Den meanwhile had been extremely amused by the exchanges, grinning as he watched them. "Right, well... it'll be interesting getting the results. I'd also bet, but somehow I just know it would bite me on the ass later. So I'm with you all in spirit. For the record? Knowing human nature as I do? I'd have to vote match. I'm betting she got him into bed at least once. By her own record, he was known to cheat on his wife with her sister. I doubt he'd have too much trouble doing the same with his nephew's wife if she was coming on to him strong. Though, he probably regretted it."

"Now, where were we?" Den turned back to the board, a blue marker in his hand. "From the date of them leaving, till she wrote in her diary that she was pregnant merely made things still questionable. But his response to her being pregnant?" He quizzed them, turning to look over his shoulder. But rather than the almost patronizing look or tone that House would take, Den looked more expectant and interested. Like a teacher, or someone that was learning as well about what was going on. He didn't act like he already knew the answers and was just waiting to tell them they were wrong. It was easy to imagine him in front of other agents who sat at the table as they worked on a profile of some criminal they had yet to catch.

Still, Wilson would have paid good money to have House well enough to be doing this himself. To be here himself, and bullheading his way through the facts till he got the answers he wanted. And yet at the same time? Wilson didn't want House to ever read these journals. To never see this information.

"Not happy." Foreman held up the journal in question. It had butterflies on it, and looked rather cheerful, despite the content of its pages. "John wasn't ready for a kid, and told her so. He made her cry, because she was actually excited to be pregnant. And he was actually kind of mad. He cited that they were just pretty much newly married, and didn't have any money saved for that kind of thing. Not to mention he was still working on his career in the military. He was worried they wouldn't be able to afford it. He didn't want to be in debt. Kids are expensive."

"But, he eventually accepted it." Cameron pointed out quickly, but then winced as she added, "Reluctantly. But, by the time she was truly having morning sickness, he was even being supportive. He tried to make her feel better. Told her that he was used to the idea now, and would bring her ginger ale and crackers in the morning. He also let her slide on doing the dishes, doing them himself when he was home. He increased the amount he said 'I love you' to her. She was happy."

Wilson raised his hand, as though in school. "And by the end of the pregnancy, he was looking forward to being a father and was hoping for a son. He was proud. Speaking of all the things he wanted to do with the kid. Playing football together, taking him fishing, teaching him to be a 'man', was the quote that was in there."

"And once the child was there?" Den continued questioning as he wrote little bullet points on the time line he had going on the board. His handwriting was easily read, and again, Wilson was reminded of a teacher at the blackboard.

"Initially? Proud papa, at the hospital. But within days? He was irritated and disinterested because the child was noisy and he didn't know what to do about it to help. Every time he tried to hold the kid, it would scream. He was lost. Out of his element!" Foreman bobbed his head as he relayed it. "He started to work night shift and volunteering for extra guard duty. Anything to be away where he didn't have to face it. Told her, he didn't have the 'magic touch'!"

"It takes a while for new parents to adjust to kids." Turner half shrugged, looking bored. "It isn't as though they actually come with instructions, or that it is truly an instinct. You have to learn it just like anything else. Didn't help that they were on a military base, away from any family support that might have been there. But, that was by choice."

"Within the first month, the baby got sick, and had to be rushed to the hospital. She called him, and he was allowed to come home to be with them as they tried to lower the baby's fever. In her words, he was 'interested' and 'cared' again about the baby." Wilson sighed the words, because he knew how damning they were. "The diagnosis was pretty straightforward. Nothing too unusual or unknown. He was treated and released."

"And then? Then Uncle John went back to the same old-same old. Avoiding the baby, because he didn't know what to 'do' with or about him." Turner added, tilting his head to the side, resting his head on his own shoulder. "Which wasn't too unusual for men back then. The division of labor in households was still geared to mother being the one to take care of the children, while the father brought home the proverbial bacon. Though there was of course a trend of more women in the work place, there was still the idea of the mother being the housewife, taking care of the kids and the home. I don't think Uncle John really expected that he should know what to do with Greg! He probably was rather relieved that things were 'normal' again. He would do the discipline, and she would do the nurture. He'd done his job just by going to work, putting a roof over their head, and food in their stomachs."

"Sometimes, like right now? I'm so very glad I live in this time period rather than back then." Allison pressed her lips together, looking irritated.

Thomas just gave a small little bob of his head in acknowledgment of the thought.

"Cue next illness for baby. The colic." Wilson added, looking rather grim at this point. Every illness sounded like a death knell for some reason. One more black mark against someone he'd once had faith in. He still had trouble at times wrapping his head around the entire screwed up mess. "At least, that was the diagnosis." He didn't sound convinced at this point. He wiped a tired hand down his face and sighed heavily.

"And dad's response?" Den asked, pointing at them with a marker. The agent didn't have any difficulty in believing in the worst of people. To his mind, this wasn't as bad as some cases he'd worked on. It was tame. For him, this was almost a holiday in terms of 'horror'.

"Initial interest and concern. And then participation in dealing with the problem. Particularly after the doctor said that it can help to carry the baby in a 'football' hold. He actually took some pride that at that point? He could take care of the baby and make him feel better." Allison answered quickly.

"Mom's response?" Den asked now, despite already knowing the answer. The pattern was already forming in his mind just from what they'd already talked about while reading the journals. Right now, they were just writing it down to see it in black and white.

"Happy and pleased to see dad and baby forming a bond of some kind." Cameron supplied, her face darkening. She'd never had much patience with the kind of people that did this kind of thing to themselves, much less others.

"Next?" Den prompted, drawing in a long breath. He shook his head to himself, looking at the board with a look of resignation.

"Baby started to feel better. Dad felt like a third wheel again. There's even some passages that indicate he was jealous at times of the baby getting so much attention from Mom." Foreman shook his head slowly. "And that perhaps if they worked as partners or a team, then it wouldn't be so bad. That he'd feel like she did. A family."

"Ta'dah! New symptoms." Turner sighed, reaching up and scratching the back of his ear while grimacing. "Sores in the mouth, screaming, crying and sore throat. It would get better, only to reappear later causing the cycle again. Doctor's weren't sure what it was, so it was listed as a virus."

"Buuuut?" Den asked, raising his brows, remembering that Thomas had cursed aloud when he'd read through that part of the journal. "How did dad act eventually?"

"Dad didn't react quite the same after the first couple of times. He was tired of the constant baby-drama. He wanted sleep, rest, and to go to work. Tired of explaining to his superiors why he was being constantly called home." Foreman raised his brows. "Mom was at a loss for the change of pace. She started taking the baby out, more often when Dad started to complain about making mistakes at work because of lack of sleep. He started talking about sleeping in a shed, or the car. Even the yard. Just for some quiet. So she started taking baby out in the car, out for walks. So he could sleep. People would talk to her and offer her advice on how to treat the baby and take care of the sores and illnesses. Suggested doctors that might know how to fix it. She felt validated again, and cared for, even if it wasn't from her husband."

Wilson sighed again, arms over his chest and looked to the ceiling. "Let's just say it? It wasn't the dad that was making the kid sick. We've all seen this kind of thing, particularly in the Clinic. Munchausen by Proxy. She started it at first to try and get John to pay attention to the boy, which it worked, at first. And then later, just because it got attention her attention from others. House told me once that, at one point, people told her that HE was doing it for the attention. But he was just a child... so..."

"Someone was doing it to him." Turner grimaced, even he hated to think that Blythe would go that far for her attention seeking behavior. "She eventually stopped. One can assume because it was becoming too apparent, or because it was no longer satisfying. Uncle John was annoyed when the kid got sick. And was getting angry at her about it. Wanting it to stop. So she must have stopped..."

"No. It was because..." Wilson got a light in his eyes as he put things together. "John went to Vietnam! She had a new source of attention. The poor soldier's wife! She got the attention and sympathy, not from a sick child, but from the danger her husband was in! Her son was part of her audience at that point. Watching her cry in front of the television, and he would try to comfort her as best a small child could. She had a new proxy."

"After he got home, she would tell John what Greg did 'wrong', Greg would get punished. And then Greg would both go to his mother, giving her the attention she craved and he got attention from her. Not to mention she still got attention from the others, at least, until they started wanting to take Greg away in some cases." Turner theorized, tapping his finger against the table slowly.

"I wonder what she used on him as a baby." Cameron frowned, shaking her head. "Poor little baby." She looked at one of the photos. "I just can't believe she'd do that. She loves him. She's always said she loves him. I don't get it. I've never understood how someone that says they love their child, could hurt them!"

"Could have been anything, really." Wilson frowned down at the pictures. "There's many theories as to why a parent, usually the mother would do such things to their children. It's not because they hate the kids. They usually love them, it's just that they're messed up in the head. They feel they are only validated when someone is paying attention to them in a crisis. Some do it for other reasons, but a lot of times, the other parent is emotionally distant."

"Plants." Turner told them, speaking suddenly as it occurred to him. "It was plants."

The others turned to him in surprise. "What makes you say that, Dr. Turner?" Den asked, curious. The man sounded so certain that Den was curious as to what to base his 'diagnosis' on.

"Look at the pictures. Half her plants inside the house would cause the symptoms, and some in the yard." He flipped through and showed one scene where Blythe was standing outside with Greg House, just learning to walk. His bare feet in the grass, while she held his hands for balance. "See those? Buttercups. Pretty in the yard, poisonous to eat. The sap can cause blistering and inflammation. Also upsets the stomach quite a bit. Beggars used to use the extract to keep their sores open and angry so that people would be sympathetic and give them alms. The extract has also been used in the past as a wart remover. A drop would be enough to have an effect. And it fits. Why not use something that beggars used for their own version of Munchausen to create her own case here?"

He flipped to another page, showing Greg sitting in his high chair, eating gooey cake. Behind him were house plants. "Dumb Cane, Elephant's Ear..." He trailed off shrugging. "Just about most decorative plants can be used as a poison depending on what it is, and what the victim's health is like in general. Even Daffodils can cause nausea, vomiting and diarrhea and are considered 'possibly' fatal in the right amount and under the correct circumstances. It's honestly not that hard to poison someone. In truth, it is harder to just poison someone 'a little bit'." He shook his head. "She probably only used a drop that was diluted in his formula. Could even have put it on a glove, and smeared it into his mouth."

"House is never going to believe us. As far as he's concerned, his mother may not be a saint? But close enough for him. He forgave her for a lot over the years. He is never going to accept that his mother is the kind of woman we've called social services on because of this kind of thing!" Wilson groaned, rubbing his face and shaking his head.

"Do we really have to tell him?" Allison asked. "I mean? It isn't like it will make a difference at this point. He's no longer in danger from her. He's an adult. We can't prove she did anything to him. This is all theory!"

"He's going to figure it out himself." Turner finally stated. "We don't have to tell him anything. Let him have these books, read them himself, and put it together quietly. He'll figure it out. He'll also never mention it to anyone when he does. He'll just never bring it up again. Let him work it out. It's enough that we know that Uncle John did not try to harm his son when he was an infant." He paused and then raised his brows. "I have a new theory as well. Often times, those that were victims of Munchausen by Proxy become those that believe that they are only worthwhile when they have an illness themselves. If Uncle John ever suspected that his wife was doing that to his son, he would have definitely 'disciplined' her. I doubt he'd stop just because Greg is older now. We've heard that the last time he disciplined her, was when Greg had his Infarction. Supposedly, because she had told him he was being too hard on Greg or something? I'm a bit fuzzy on the details. We also know he's always telling Greg that he's making a bigger deal of his leg than it 'really' is. What if... The reason he struck Aunt Blythe was because he saw her slipping back into the old patterns? And that he doesn't want Greg to live exaggerating his leg? In Uncle John's world view, strength is important. Feeling validated because of pain goes against the grain."

"That makes a certain twisted sense." Wilson gave Thomas a considering look. "Wasn't there a part in there, where she said he got angry at her because Greg was getting sick again? And that he was starting to 'act like it was her fault and that she wasn't a good mother' because her kid kept getting sick? Maybe he suspected? And like us, didn't want to believe the woman he loved was hurting their child? Especially one she wanted so badly in the first place! There's also the fact that if people were blaming House as a child for pretending to get sick or playing it up, that might be why he's so defensive about his conditions these days. I can attest that he gets very very pissed if I even suggest that his pain might be in his mind. I know the pain is real, but pain can be made worse by depression or unhappiness. But it is the quickest way to set him off, to tell him it isn't real. Even if he doesn't consciously think about the time from when he was a kid, his subconscious might remember making him touchy about it."

"Are there any journals from around the time that Dr. House was a teenager?" Den asked as he and his partner once more sorted through the books at hand. "While she probably wouldn't give us anything to help with the actual case we're investigating against her husband, there might be some information in it that will help give us a direction. I sincerely wish that we could do something about the acts that she committed in the past. In truth? This is all speculation regardless. Even in a court of law, if the child was still a child and this was happening today? They would pretty much have to catch her in the act, and prove it was her before much would be done. This is because a lot of organic undiagnosed illnesses give off the same symptoms, and parents can be neurotic without hurting their kids. We can suspect her of such things, all we want? But in the end? Well... it's just a theory and speculation."

"I didn't see any, but that don't mean they don't exist. Or didn't exist." Wilson corrected himself. "She was a dedicated archivist until John got back from Vietnam. I can't see her stopping, unless she needed or had to. Perhaps the books are still in the house?" He suggested. "And you're right. We can suspect. Not prove. And we also aren't always allowed to give speculation to motive even if we are called into court." He frowned. "There's been too many wrongful convictions, and cases overturned because people thought the worst and come to find out? It was... just a virus. The case is about John House. Not Blythe. So while this was a good exercise, and helped us understand the situation better? In the end, this doesn't really help anything."

Den was already nodding as Willcox took his cell phone and headed to the bathroom to use it. "We're going to have a team go back through the house. This time more carefully through her things. First time, they were looking for weapons, and through his things. You're right, that primarily, we are investigating John House. All I can say is that the team that went through those books, didn't read them thoroughly, and shifted them to the side as unimportant. But apparently, they offer some more insight into the things that went on in the background."

Turner leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. "Whether it is to be believed or not, you know, this does make more sense thinking back on it."

"What do you mean?" Allison frowned, looking at him over the top of her glasses. "How does this make sense at all? I've never understood how a mother could hurt her own child like that! And yes, after everything I've learned so far? I believe she's at least capable of it. Even if she didn't do it. She still allowed her son to be abused, and gave him the information to do it!"

"I mean just that, in history, there's been far more women that used poison than men. It is the weapon of choice for most females. Not all, of course, but looking back? Women usually tend to use poison because it is easy, doesn't depend on strength or surprise, and generally they can dose someone without being suspected at first. John is more physical. He's also more... decisive. Even if he failed to poison someone the first time? The second time would have finished it. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice. He's too 'careful'." Turner explained. "And women tend to victimize their children in this manner far more than men. Men are generally more 'hands on' with them. He's too careful though."

"Extremely careful." Den muttered. "I've already checked with my superiors, and I'd like to go back with you to New Jersey." He told them. "I'd like to talk to Dr. House myself, and go through some names that have been narrowed down from an initial list."

"Do you think you'll discover anything?" Allison asked, closing the book in front of her and leaning back in the chair she was in.

Den sucked his upper lip into his mouth, and caught it with his teeth, then blew out a breath as he considered how best to answer that. "I think where there is smoke, there is fire. Or was fire. The problem is going to be, figuring out in all this smoke where the fire was originally, and proving he lit it. At least two of the cases are about thirty years old. Add into it that at least one of them took place in a foreign country? It'll take a while, at least, to go through the proper channels to gain evidence or do get access to the records. Last I heard, they were considering going forward with the aggravated assault charges. While we keep the case open and try to gain evidence on the other stuff. We can bring other charges later, if necessary." He admitted.

"Are they dropping the attempted murder then?" Turner asked, raising his brows and tilting his head.

"According to what I heard? They have him talking to a psychiatrist. I think they are making a case for Post Traumatic. That he wasn't trying to kill him, but was reacting to a trigger or something. I don't know." Den shook his head. "I'll get updated when I get there."

He rubbed a hand down his face. "For now? I'm going to leave you guys to get your rest and get ready for the trip back. If you could give us half the hair sample, I'd appreciate it. As you said, probably won't result in anything. But I'd rather look into it then dismiss it."

An evidence bag was used to take the FBI's half of the sample before the two agents left, leaving the four doctors to clean up the mess and pack everything away for the night. Just like House, really. He rarely cleaned up after a differential either.

But this particular differential was an exercise in futility. They had no answers. Only theories, which could well be wrong. Without evidence, it was all conjecture. If anything, it had just showcased how thing could look bad in one way, and still be innocent in another. Or, conversely, be innocent, but look really really bad for the suspect.

Each doctor had dealt with their share of Munchausen suspects, and unless caught red-handed, or they had specific undeniable proof... and so it would be again. They could be right. Or they could be wrong.

And it still wouldn't matter either way.

--

"Some people call me the space cowboy, yeahhhhhh. Some call me the gangster of love.  
" The light baritone came from the kitchen while House stared in horror from the doorway leading from the bedroom into the living room. Chase had pillow over his face, laughing into it while House gripped his cane tightly. "Some people call me Maurice. WOOHOO!"

"If I kill it, do you think they will arrest me?" House asked quietly.

"Cause I speak of the pompitous of loooooooooooveeeeee."

"It's not an it. It's an RJ!" Chase peeked out from under the pillow before forcing it back down over his face so he could muffle his laughter. Even though it made his back twinge, he just couldn't stop. The man had just started singing while he was in the kitchen!

"He's not too bad." Chase pulled the pillow off his face and grinned, despite the heated glare that House was throwing him. "I've heard worse!"

"He's not too good either." House grumbled, leaning against the doorframe. The knock on the door drew an irritated growl from the older man before he was lumbering toward it, to find out who else was going to be invading his territory. "Stop torturing the non-existent cat!" He yelled toward the kitchen. "They're going to call the Humane Society!"

"What?" He threw the door open, glaring. Chase half expected for there to be a police officer on the other side, called due to disturbing the peace!

"Avon?" The physical therapist raised her brows and drew back. "Can I interest you in a free make-over? Sweet Honesty is just the scent you need to woo the man of your dreams..." She paused. "RJ called me, said that Dr. Chase had some problems with sciatic nerve pain. Add into it that he's stuck here tonight, and my husband is working overtime? I'm bored enough to come keep him company and to call the police if you try to beat him with your cane." She rattled off after a second.

Chase had managed to get into his wheelchair and was in the hall during the exchange, and offered a wave from behind House. House didn't appear to wish to move, so Sibyll held up a credit card. "Let me in, and you can run this up to the limit." She offered with an amused smirk.

"Whose is that?" House asked, eyes narrowed, but looking interested. "I know it can't be yours."

"Ahhh, long story, but my ex-husband screwed me over recently. He's unable to pay me back immediately? So he gave me his credit card to 'screw over', to make up for it. We have a bit of a strange relationship. I already have everything I really want. You have... mmm... five-hundred dollars to fuck with." She continued to smirk. "I spent the other five hundred this morning."

House considered it a second more, and then snatched the card out of her hand before stepping to the side to let her in. He was looking at the card carefully, probably memorizing the numbers.

"RJ! I'm hereeeee!" Sibyll called out as she made her way into the apartment, a large bag over her shoulder. "Hey you." She said to Chase. "You almost ready to start getting on crutches?" She asked him.

He nodded, seriously interested in it. He looked up at her, noting the differences between how she was at the hospital and how she was off duty. Her hair was still pulled back, but this time if anything in a severe and tight braid. Which considering her curls, some strands had escaped and were curling up in ringlets. She wore sweatpants and a big oversized shapeless shirt with a large bag over her shoulder. Like a giant purse. It was brightly colored in purple with yellow flowers on it. He could see yarn and some big needles peeking out the top. She turned to the kitchen. "RJ stop racket in there!" She hollered.

"Good. We start... tomorrow." She told Chase, turning to look back at him. "I'm going to work that little ass of yours off. RJ! SHUT THE SINGING UP! Good, god..." She grumbled as she passed Chase and headed to the kitchen. "Don't make me beat you today. I swear..."

Chase looked into the kitchen in time to see Sibyll pop RJ on the back of the head and snatch his headphones off. "Twit. What are you fixing? Is it edible?" She went to the sauce and gave it a tentative sniff. And then curled her lip in mild disgust.

"Um... I hope so? I was winging it." RJ offered, wiping his hands off. "Wow, they actually let you in? I thought I was going to have to beg a bit."

"Yeahhhhh. I gave Dr. House Bernie's credit card to play with." Sibyll explained, checking out the fridge and wrinkling her nose at the contents. "Who went to the store for these people? Ray Charles? Just randomly picking stuff out at the 'gluten free' section or something? Blah..."

"Hey, hey, make yourself at home." House said sarcastically, leaning on his cane and glaring at the interlopers. "Mi casa es su casa."

"Home Shopping channel, stat! It'll cure all your woes and irritations. Does for me!" She pointed at the card still in his hand. "I'm helping RJ cook, so you can actually eat it without grabbing for the first glass of water you can find and then making love to the Porcelain Gods in the bathroom."

"I'm not that bad a cook." RJ pouted, looking pitiful and pathetic. "I've survived so far!"

"You ain't that good neither. I've seen your fridge. You live on microwaves meals, and what is canned." Sibyll called back, pulling out some milk. "Your momma needs shot for letting you out of her house without teaching you to cook."

"My momma couldn't cook either." RJ laughed. "I grew up on tuna, Ramen, and bologna sandwiches. TV dinners are a step UP!"

Sibyll made a gagging noise and snatched the stirring spoon from RJ's hand. "Get out of the kitchen, and go play with the other boys. I'll call you when supper is done. Here, watch my phone. If Frank calls, bring me the phone. If Bernie calls, tell him to bite you."

RJ saluted, spun on his heel, and went into the living room, cell phone in hand.

"Hey boss!" RJ sat down on the couch, getting comfortable as he watched House and Chase make their way around. "What are we doing now?"

House narrowed his eyes and said. "I was thinking about watching Gay Porn and then making out with Chase. How does that grab you?"

RJ raised his brows and then seemed to think about it. "I don't think grabbing me would be conducive to you two making out. So, I think I'll just read a book while you two do that. But I do caution you that Dr. Chase isn't quite ready for Intercourse yet. So you might try to avoid rounding past second base. At least, for a little while longer."

"Does anything bother you?" Chase asked, amused as he looked over at RJ. He was sure that House had been trying to provoke some kind of reaction. So far, it hadn't worked.

"Uh, depends. There's things that bug me? But not this kind of thing." He wrinkled his nose and shook his head. "I've seen and heard worse. You just roll with it, and go with the flow. Not worth worrying about the small stuff, you know?" He laid his right ankle over his left knee, and held on to it with his right hand, sitting comfortably. He smiled. "Besides, you two are cute together."

"Well that's just irritating. And we are NOT 'cute'. It just means I have to try harder." House grouched as he nearly fell into his recliner and grabbed the remote while Chase transferred himself to the couch. He was definitely getting better at it. Stronger. It was no longer a tiring ordeal. "You don't get off scott-free!"

"Why bother?" RJ asked, smiling slightly, leaning back in his seat and watching the blank television. "You'll just get fruuuuustrated."

"You're on drugs aren't you? You're on pot." House accused, he glared. "Why aren't you sharing?"

RJ laughed and shook his head. He tapered off to chuckling. "No. No pot. No drugs. Nothing. I even rarely drink."

"You're a stranger in my apartment." House pronounced suddenly. He was changing the game now. Putting him on the spot. "Tell me about yourself. I'm bored..." He toyed with his remote idly.

"Interview time." Chase chuckled, remembering back to his own interview when applying to be a Fellow. House had asked the oddest questions. Most hadn't seemed even connected to his ability to do the job. For instance, did he live near a coffee shop? What had been his favorite toy as a child? Wilson had sat behind him sighing heavily most the time.

"What am I applying for?" RJ asked, smiling, but clearly willing to play along. "Should I imagine you as an Administrator, Manager, or the dude down the street that wears the paper hat and thinks that because he is in charge of the mop, he's in charge of the store?"

"Well, you're supposed to interview babysitters. Our pseudo-parents forgot to tell us what your credentials are." House told him, vaguely amused. "And I am clearly that bored. But if it helps the process? Imagine I'm Cuddy wearing a low cut blouse."

Chase had a suspicion that while it was true that House was bored, he was also going to try and pick RJ apart. Find out what made him tick, and then proceed to try and irritate the living hell out of the man. It would at least be entertaining for a while. Otherwise, they were literally going to be bored without anything else to do.

Meanwhile, RJ was peering at House and then shuddered. "Sorry. That doesn't work for me. It's either the idea of you in her clothes, or the fact that she's the boss. I'm not sure which. But I think it is picturing you wearing her necklace and dress-suit. It's... rather frightening. I'm also picturing the heels... oh god, help... IT BURNSSSSSSS!" RJ grabbed his head and melodramatically rocked back and forth until House threw a used styro-foam cup at him.

"No idea where to start." RJ confessed, sitting up straighter and perfectly composed. He smiled. "I'm kind of bland and tame. Sorry." He actually looked apologetic.

"How about your parents? What were they like?" House asked, his voice completely level, but he had that look in his eyes. He had a puzzle to work on, at least for the moment. Not to mention, he was probably once again researching and compiling information for contrast and comparison.

"Um... well... dad has passed away. Died about, hm... eleven years ago, in July. When he was alive, he was a contractor. Worked on sewer systems, mostly. His pride and joy was a big backhoe." He smiled a little. "My mother was a respiratory therapist at the local hospital, and then worked in a nursing home for a while before she just... couldn't do it anymore. Too many dealings with 'No Codes'. Even though she wasn't allowed to help the patient, she was still required to stand beside their beds and watch them die. She had a nervous breakdown from it, and then from that point on? Was a housewife. Easier on her nerves." He smiled slightly. "Well sorta. My sister nearly drove her over the edge a few times growing up! She's still alive, living with some guy in Indiana." He explained. "My sister is in Georgia."

"How did your dad die?" House asked bluntly. Not even one coat of sugar on that question. Chase winced a little.

RJ was quiet a moment and then said carefully. "Diverticulitis was the diagnosis. My sister though? Has since been diagnosed with Crohn's Disease. So it is 'possible' that my dad was misdiagnosed. But there is no way to prove it, either."

"Is that why you became a nurse? Because of your mom working in a hospital once? Or because your dad was misdiagnosed and died because of it?" House seemed intent on discovering the answer. He was far more interested in RJ's answers than he was the infomercial currently on.

RJ shook his head. "Neither." He smiled slightly in response to House's frown. "Though, if one has to be completely honest on the subject? My family is actually filled with medical professionals. Nurses, Nurses Aides, a Doctor here and there, Orderlies. Therapists. EMTs, Paramedics. Just about everyone in my family has worked in a hospital at one point or another. Even my father that was a contractor? Did work for the hospital. Just that it was more... along the lines of, labor work. OH, and one of the EMTs is also a firefighter and a nurse. He is a bit of an overachiever. He also had a stint as a trucker, sno-cone man, and he sold vacuum cleaners. Last I heard he was learning about computers."

"So you decided to go into the family business, so to speak?" House asked, nodding slowly.

"Nope." RJ grinned, enjoying the idea of thwarting House.

"I have a cane, and I'm not afraid to use it." House glared at him.

"You want to know why I became a nurse, but you've not asked me that directly." RJ pointed out. "I became a nurse? Because I figured out, I was actually good at it. But, not before I tried something different first. I was in the military first. Joined fresh out of High School. I wasn't sure what I wanted to do." He related. "But a few weeks before all the paperwork was finished, there was this accident, and well... having so many family members in the profession? I was able to help out during it. Found that I could do it, in an emergency. So I called the recruiter and he got me into the right training programs. I even have degrees."

"And that's why you salute all the time?" Chase asked vaguely amused, but also curious. He'd wondered where that had come from. The man did it, all the damn time!

"Uh... no." RJ laughed as House looked for something else to throw at him. "No, really, hear me out. I salute, because it's just... a fun response. People look at you odd, and don't know what to do about it. It's just because it amuses me." He admitted, grinning even as an empty can bounced off his shoulder.

House continued to frown and asked. "Which branch?" He looked wary for only a second and then clamped down on the response. His face a perfect 'mask'.

"United States Air Force." RJ grinned, seeming to enjoy talking about himself at this point.

Chase watched House relax at the answer. He had a feeling that if RJ had said 'Marine' there would have been a different response other than. "Why did you leave?"

"Who says I have?" RJ continued to smile. "A while back, they decided that they needed to cut back. I'm in the Reserves now. Ready Reserve. Meaning, if they need me? They call, and... I'm there again." He nodded. "And I also serve one weekend a month, and two weeks a year. Truth is though? I'd rather just be Active. I'm starting to miss it. A lot." He sighed softly.

"Have you been..." Chase started to ask and then trailed off.

"Overseas? Iraq? Yes." He nodded, though his smiled did dim a little. "Not the most pleasant place on Earth. It'll never replace Disney World." He admitted as he scratched his eyebrow. "But I felt like I was able to help, with the other troops. Help take care of them. But not exactly a place I would recommend people include in their travel plans."

"Don't like to talk about it?" House probably smelled blood in the water on the subject.

"I can, if that is what you mean." RJ shrugged a shoulder. "But you'll find it boring. When push comes to shove, once the action is going? It isn't that different from what you'd fine in the ER of any big city. You just concentrate on the task at hand! But as for Iraq the country? I don't know what I could possibly tell you that you don't hear about from every where else." He shook his head slowly.

"McGuire, right?" House asked suddenly, having finally pulled the name of the Air Force base in New Jersey out of whatever vault of knowledge he held in his brain.

"That is where I'll be assigned, yes."

"You're an Officer!" House realized after a second, snapping his fingers as he connected yet another dot in the puzzle that was 'RJ'. Not that he was a complicated puzzle in general.

RJ laughed and nodded. "Yes, I am. No one has ever really asked that before. But yeah... I'm an Officer in the United States Air Force Reserves. I used to be Active. And probably will be again someday. Got my commissioned officer's training at Maxwell Air Force Base in Alabama. I'm a Major. Major Robert James Thompson. I'm working at PPTH, but they are aware that if I'm recalled, I'm gone. They're going to settle me into a department soon. For now, I've been floating, and the last few weeks I've been working the oncology wards. Before that? Cardio. But there's an opening coming up in surgical. When I'm Active? I work in triage and emergency care. So, I'll be settled into surgical pretty soon. Just waiting for the other nurse to finish her time out."

"You're close to Cohen?" House changed tactics, trying to get at the more personal information. Looking for gossip!

RJ nodded by tilting his head to the side. "She's a friend. She was my sister's sister in law, and married my friend Frank. He and I went to school together. High School. She met Frank at a party he and I went to for my sister and her husband. So she's pretty much family."

"No wives in your past?" House asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Yes. One." Chase was taken by surprise on that answer. He would have bet his last dollar that RJ had never been married. "Divorced. She couldn't handle being a military wife. She fell for someone else. I gave her the divorce she wanted. No kids. No pets."

"Still on good terms?" Chase asked his own question, at this point.

"No terms, rather. I've not seen or heard from her in years." RJ shook his head. "Last I heard, she moved to Washington State somewhere."

"Here's a question? Who is that little nurse you keep falling all over yourself for? And why do you act like a goober for her?" House asked, raising his brows and smirking.

"Oh, you're just evillllllll." RJ sighed, but didn't look particularly irritated. "Her name is Darlene. And I know she's way out of my league." He shook his head. "But I just get... tongue tied. Nervous. I've always been nervous with girls that I find extremely attractive."

House looked up at the doorway where Sibyll was coming through with a tray. "So obviously you don't find Cohen attractive."

RJ made a face, wrinkling his nose. "Ewwww, she's not a girl. OW!" He grabbed the back of his head and stared up at her as she drew back her free hand. "I mean, she's a sister. Not a girl!" He rubbed the head and gave her a mild and good-natured glare.

"And Dr. Cuddy? Dr. Cameron?" House prodded, chuckling in amusement.

RJ shook his head. "Boss lady. Taken lady. People of a higher rank, related or with my friends, or already dating someone else? They're not on the 'to look at' list." He assured. "You have to put things in perspective and make your priorities. Besides, Darlene is pretty. She's also popular, out of my league, and I'm never going to get anywhere with her. It's a little like window shopping. To be honest? I wouldn't know what to do with her if she even was interested. I'd probably have a heart attack, right on the spot and DIE!"

Sibyll laughed at him and shook her head. She closed her eyes and got more comfortable. "You're such an idiot. I hope you know that."

"Eh." RJ grinned and shrugged, obviously not disturbed by the idea.

"She's a bitch anyway. You could do much better." Sibyll assured as she passed plates to everyone.

"Oh, nuuuu don't start again. The last blind date you set me up on..." He shook his head and grimaced.

"Disaster?" Chase asked, though he suspected such. He'd never really heard of any blind date working out well. It seemed to be more of an exercise in torturing your friends in the name of 'helping'.

"I didn't knooooow she was that insane before setting you up. She seemed perfectly nice." Sibyll defended herself between bites of food. "How was I to know she was going to turn into the stalker-bitch-from-hell?"

"I'd still rather not go through that again." RJ wrinkled his nose and gave her a smile. "I still have an Order of Protection against her."

"Right, well, I'm still saying you can do better than Darlene. She's not worth your time." Sibyll stated, pointing at him with a fork, eating the food on it a second later.

"It isn't like I'm asking her out." RJ sighed, rolling his eyes. "I just... window shop. I could never afford her. I couldn't afford her on a Doctor's salary much less what I make at the moment! I'd have to take out a loan just for the first date!"

"Ah ha, so this is how to irritated you." House pointed at RJ. "Harass you about dating!"

RJ gave him a small smile. "Gah. I just..." He shook his head. "I don't think I really want to date yet. It's too complicated and takes too much energy. You have to do this whole... getting to know you thing? Because even if I'm being genuine? Well... not to speak ill of the fairer sex, but... they do tend to pretend to be someone else until they have their hooks in you. At least, the women that people have been throwing at me lately. I think it would be better to be friends first with someone, and then move from there."

Sibyll chuckled. "You're still feeling the 'burn' from that one date a year ago, aren't you? Are you ever going to get over that?"

The other man winced. "I'm... still not sure what to think about that one. I don't think there was one thing real about her. Wig, false eyelashes, drawn on eyebrows, padded bra, high heels... even with all that? I could have dealt with. No big deal. I would date a completely bald flat-chested hefty woman that wore cleats if they were nice enough. The problem with her was that she faked being nice too. Even her smiling was false. I'd gone to the bathroom, and while she waited in the hallway? She bitched out some young gal that was working there, for something so minor. And then when I came out? She changed her tune so fast it made my head spin!"

"And yet you 'like' me?" House challenged, squinting at him. "Does not compute."

"You're 'real'. It's just that the real you, isn't a model of sainthood. You've never faked being nice, and I don't want to date you. " RJ pointed out, grinning. "Sorry, Dr. H. But you're just not my type."

"Aw, I'm hurt. Here I was hoping for an orgy." House dead-panned.

Sibyll had been sipping her tea that she'd brought in with her on the tray when he said that, and she ended up spitting it back out into her cup, laughing loudly. She covered her mouth and grinned at him. "Not unless we invite Frank first. I'm not allowed to be in orgies without him!"

"Oh nu. You just had to get her started on sex." RJ shook his head and covered his eyes. He gave House a distressed look that clearly read 'How could you?'

She cackled and poked RJ in the shoulder. "Want me to tell ya what me and Frank got up to last night?"

"NO!" RJ waved his hands frantically in front of himself. "No no no no no no no. I'm good. I don't need to know annnnnnything else about your sex lives. You've told me WAY more than I ever wanted to know. Truly."

Sibyll just continued to cackle before trailing off, grinning. "You're so easy. See? Not hard to do at all." She winked at House. "You just have to know his buttons. And yes, I was listening in the kitchen."

"Ears of a... whatever hears really well." RJ pouted. "I pity your grand kids. They'll never get away with anything."

She chuckled. "Sure they will, because I get to spoil them. Granny aids and abets the bratlings."

"You're a grandmother?" Chase asked incredulously. He had her pegged to be in her thirties, surely. Early thirties? Not too much older than HIM! "You're..."

"A granny." She nodded, smiling slightly. "Had a kid young, and now she had one young. Despite everything I ever did to try and make sure she didn't." She sighed slightly and then shook her head. "But, he's a darlin'. And I do enjoy being granny, and smirking as I send the kid HOME for her to deal with. Oh, but the Mother's Curse does work well!" She clapped her hands together and grinned.

"I would never have guessed you were a grandmother." Chase shook his head slowly, honestly surprised.

"Amazing what a bottle of hair dye does too." Sibyll winked and cocked a finger at him like a gun before making clicking noises. "Okay, here is the plan Kemosabes. I'm going home in a few hours, and feed Frank and the cats. RJ here will stay the night. I'll come in the morning, pick y'all up in the van. And then we'll bootscoot on over to the hospital. Dr. House can go haunt the hospital at large, annoying all and sundry. Dr. Chase here will get his bone scan. It'll be all right, and then I get to put him through his paces and try to get him on crutches. Now, you've been doing your exercises, right?"

Chase nodded. "I'm also on new steroids to keep the swelling down."

"Getting you up and about, will help with the swelling too. You're sitting on your ass too much. You're putting pressure there. We get you up, moving, mending... You'll be just fine." She promised. "I'm ready to get this show on the road."

"You're being annoyingly perky." House curled his lip in disdain.

"Not really. I'm being annoyingly hyperactive and obsessive compulsive. I want to get in there and get things done. Tired of waiting around." She swore, shaking her head. "Perky would be this... oooooo we're just going to have SO much funnnnn!" She said in a falsely bright voice, clamping her hands together and putting the beside her head while she batted her eyes with a plastic smile. She immediately slumped back into her regular facial expression. "I don't do perky. I do intense."

RJ nodded. "You should see her when she's ordering me and Frank around. 'Do this this and this... not that you idiots... move it over there.'"

"Well, can I help it if I'm a natural leader?" She asked, fluttering her eyes this time, and giving him a wry smile.

"Leader. Tyrant. Dictator." RJ ticked off before she reached out and cuffed him on the back of the head. He rubbed his head while narrowing his eyes. "See? She's no girl. She's a sister-person! And she beats me terribly! Every day!"

She shook her head. "Now... finish your food, everyone. So I can do dishes and you all can relax before you go to bed."

RJ saluted. "Sir, yes, sir!" He barked, only to duck as she lightly whapped him again.

Chase looked over at House and smiled slightly. House was watching the two others interacting with interest, and was relaxing. He looked relaxed. There wasn't any tension around his eyes, and he was merely leaning back and might as well have been lost in a show.

He himself was relaxed and enjoying their company. There was no judgment involved with them. It was almost like having 'old' friends come for a visit, even though until tonight he'd never known anything more about them than their names and occupations at the hospital. They were comfortable and real. Silly, true, but it was the kind of joking around silliness that people that knew each other for a long time had.

Maybe, Chase thought, it is because they aren't trying to pick us apart, ask questions, or otherwise fix anyone. At least, not beyond what is required of their jobs. It's Sibyll's job to do physical therapy. But they aren't trying to mentally pick anyone apart or find out any... motivations.

It was easier to lower their guard.

And it was a nice break from everything else in their lives as well.

-- 


	82. Chapter 82

House stared at the car seat beside Chase almost all the way to the hospital. He got to sit in the front, while RJ sat in the very very back. Chase sat in the middle closest to the sliding door. But beside him, on the driver's side, was a baby's car seat.

Chase wasn't too sure what it was about the car seat that deserved such attention or study. But he half suspected it was because it was covered in dinosaurs holding firetrucks in their hands. Oh, wait. Godzilla. Godzilla holding firetrucks in their hands. Or perhaps, it was the large blue Care Bear with the stormy cloud on its stomach strapped into the seat like a passenger.

Hm. That could be it!

On second thought, it might have been because Grumpy Bear had a name tag sewed on it's chest that read. 'Dr. G House'. A small cardboard cane was tucked into the side of the seat, now that Chase was looking closer. Cute! Chase chuckled and then tried to hide it with a cough.

Chase bit his lip and forcefully made himself stare out the window and not look over at either Sibyll or the 'real' House. RJ hadn't seemed to notice what was going on one way or another, as he was asleep against the window leaving a small trail of drool on the glass as he snored softly along with the piano music that was playing from the CD player.

As they pulled into the parking lot, House finally asked. "When did you put that tag on the bear?"

"Oh, last night." She grinned unrepentantly. "I have a little lab coat for him too. Because my grandson thinks people that work in hospitals are 'cool'. But since you don't wear one, I took it off him just before coming in to get you. I'll put the lab coat back on him later. But just thought I'd mess with you a little." She held her finger and thumb apart a small amount.

"You live dangerously." House said with mild amusement. He reached out and unbuckled the bear, snatching it out of the seat and tucking it under his arm. "It has my name on it, therefore it's mine!" He stuck out his tongue.

"You only live once." She agreed. "And if the most radical thing I ever do is compare you to Grumpy Bear? Then I'd have to say I live a pretty tame life. Stealing toys from children, I ought to change you out for the Grinch!" She didn't look particularly upset that House was stealing the toy. Her protest was amused more than anything. "You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch!" She shook her finger at him before turning around in her seat.

"Wake up, SLEEPY!" She called back to RJ who jerked awake with little trouble. He blinked before he wiped his chin and looked around before giving them all a small soft smile. It just figured that he was the kind of guy that woke up pleasantly.

She pulled up to the curb and waited while RJ did most of the work to assist Chase getting out of the van. Chase put his weight on his left leg, and leaned against the van while the wheel chair was dealt with, and then sat down in it while House supervised. There were times when he was tempted to try to bear weight on his right leg, just to see if it would hurt or hold him. But that was the same kind of impulse people had when it came to poking a toothache with their tongue. He faintly heard the Mother Superior telling him 'if you poke at it, it'll never heal'. Too right she was.

"Now see? This is why we should have chauffers. On the other hand? Then I wouldn't get to ride my motorcycle and that would suck. Men that ride motorcycles are more bad ass than men with chauffers. But men with chauffers get to be lazy in the back seat." He was weighing both thoughts with his hands, trying to figure out which was more important. "Nah. I'll keep the motorcycle. I'd rather be bad ass." He decided.

Chase had more than a feeling that the motorcycle represented a lot of things to House. Freedom being one of the big ones. Ability being another. He wasn't crippled or disabled on the motorcycle. He was normal and like he used to be.

Right now? Chase would give almost anything to be able and capable to even climb on the back and ride with House on such a thing.

"Good morning, campers!" House held his arms out for a second as he walked into the lobby area of the hospital. "Tell Uncle Greg how much you missed him! Were you all good little boys and girls?"

"House." Cuddy stalked toward him, her heels clicking on the floor. "You're supposed to be home, resting."

"Yesssss, this is true. Except that it is now Monday, and Chasey-wacey has a bone density scan to do today and your latest minions have to go back to work. Now, surely you don't want me to sit at home. Alllll by my lonesome. With internet. And your credit card number..." He added the last bit after a pause and with a large smirk.

"House." She pressed her lips together and scowled. "Don't you dare try to find a case today..."

"Does anyone else notice that when I'm wanting to work? No one wants me around. When I don't want to work. Everyone throws case files at me, herds me into the Clinic, and acts like I'm allergic to my job. Doesn't this seem... strange to anyone?" House furrowed his brow as he looked around at Chase, RJ, and eventually Sibyll as she made her way into the hospital with a large bag on her arm. "Which is it? I'm either lazy or a workaholic. Make up my mind!"

She sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. She paused to give a disconcerted look at the care bear before continuing on as though nothing was out of the ordinary. "The answer is much more simple, House. You're CONTRARY! You do the exact opposite of what I want!"

He raised his brows and looked toward the ceiling and then finally nodded. "I'll give you that one. I'm BORED. Let me at least consult. I won't prescribe. I'll sit in my office and let them all do the work."

Chase chuckled as he was unable to stop himself from saying. "How is that different from the rest of the time?"

"Shh, you're not helping." House swung around on him and held his finger to his lips. "I think I'm wearing her down." He turned back to Cuddy. "Wait wait, I got it!" He snapped his fingers. "You say I'm contrary and that I do the exact opposite of what you want. You KNOW this. Obviously. So, you're telling me to go home and rest. What you REALLY want, is for me to go into work and do stuff. Sneaky, Cuddy! Sneaky! But I'll do you a favor, and do just that. Because I'm exactly that bored." He started toward the elevator.

"No! That's... damn it House. So if I tell you to stay here and work, will you go home?" She glared at him.

"Nope. Because, as I said, I'm on to you. And I'm just that bored! So I'll do you that favor and help heal the sick and the injured! Gang way people, saint in the making, coming through!" He called out, trying to move her to the side with his cane.

Her lips still pressed together, arms crossed she finally grumbled to herself. "The others will be back in about four or five more hours. They were able to get an early flight. If you can stay out of trouble until at least then, you can play in your office." She sounded as though she were compromising. It sounded like it, but in actuality she was giving him exactly what he wanted in the first place. "BUT I do not want to see you with a patient. You can look at the files, for now. But you're not taking a case!"

House was moving before she finished talking, hurrying in case she either changed her mind or added more. RJ quickly followed him, pushing Chase's wheelchair as House slapped the elevator button. He called back. "Right, got you. You want me to take on three patients today? Got ya!"

Quietly, he told Chase and RJ. "As soon as the door opens, run! Smoke is coming out of her ears!"

"You do know she's not actually chasing you?" Chase grinned as RJ shoved him into the elevator right after House.

"You'd be surprised how often that woman has chased me. She wants my bod, you know. You have some competition. Not much, mind you. But you've seen the twins." House sighed deeply. "Can't blame a man..." He shook his head.

Chase chuckled, rolling his eyes as the elevator rose, taking them to House's 'other home' away from home.

--

The hours surprisingly flitted by without Chase truly realizing it. His bone density was improved to the point that he was given the green light to do the more important forms of rehab. Though he was of course cautioned that he was to continue taking his supplements and meds. He'd come far, but wasn't anywhere near the goal yet.

Sibyll's behavior had changed to completely professional as he entered the physical therapy room. He would never have believed that the night before, she'd been teasing RJ about her having sex with his best friend-brother figure.

By the end of the session he was sweating heavily, sore, and shaking. She gave him a glass of water, allowed him to take a pill, and then sent him back to Diagnostics with a pair of crutches to take home with him for later. He was still in the chair, but he was working his way up. Finally!

Ortho determined that his leg was healing nicely and quickly, and for once something seemed to be going right for him.

He hadn't even realized how quickly the day had passed until he was startled by the others returning while carrying boxes in their arms. Some of the boxes seemed to be quite heavy by the way they thumped as they were set down on the table.

"Noah says hi, and can you lend him some bail money." Thomas piped up without preamble, rubbing his lower back.

"He still owes me bail money from the last time you showed up." House shot back with a mild glare. "What did you do this time?"

"Nothing." Cameron snapped at House, hands on her hips. She glared. "Your cousin is an ass."

"Yeahhhhhh... runs in the family. Did you miss the memo?" House gave her a shocked look. He was already opening boxes and looking through things. Chase smiled as House held up a small outfit with feet attached. "Who is the stiff you brought?" House nodded toward the man in the suit standing by the door as he quickly stuffed the onesie back into the box.

"I'm Agent Den, of the FBI. I was just wanting to ask you some questions about some names that we've discovered." The man said pleasantly.

"I was expecting Tritter." House looked up and then looked back down, contemplating yet another box. "I'm not sure if this is a good thing, or a bad thing. Or just a thing."

"Detective Tritter has done very well on this case and has gone above and beyond the call of duty in pursuing it. For which, we are appreciative. But this case is now to a level that is beyond his jurisdiction. We will be handling it from this point on." Agent Den gave them what was probably meant to be a comforting smile. "I assure you? I don't bite."

"What if someone likes that kind of thing? Some people are just kinky like that." House pointed at Chase as he said it, forcing Chase to smirk and shake his head as he rolled his eyes.

"I do the biting." Chase pointed out.

"Oh, yeah... Turner, are you SURE he can't have sex just yet?" He gave a faux-pleading look toward his cousin.

"Only if you want to engage in necrophilia." Turner shot back. "If that's the case? Go for it."

"Well, either way? I have to remind them I'm on duty. So it's all good." Agent Den chuckled. "Now, ahhhh you'll be a bit disappointed in that not all of your mother's books are here." He said more seriously. "During the course of investigation the last twenty four hours, it was discovered that many of the books in this particular collection, were private diaries. We've read through them, up to the point you were in 7th and 8th grade, but haven't yet finished getting through the high school era." He explained while House squinted over at him. "Those were located in a different area than these. But as soon as we have gone through them? They will be turned over to you."

"Now, we understand that you have some concerns that your father may have been poisoning you as a small child." Den continued on, looking toward the others and giving them a small smile.

Chase narrowed his eyes as Cameron, Wilson, and even Foreman looked away. Guilt? Turner didn't seem to care, and was merely sitting down and making himself comfortable with a yawn.

"Reviewing the facts, it is our belief that the possibility exists, but that there is no way to be one-hundred percent sure of anything at this point. And that it wasn't your father poisoning you, either way." He explained further.

"What exactly are you saying?" House narrowed his eyes. "If it wasn't my father, but the possibility existed? Then who did it?"

"It doesn't fit the profile of your father to poison you. But, it does fit the profile of a mother who desired attention." Den sighed. He didn't look particularly pleased to relay that information.

"Get out." House said without pre-amble.

Den shook his head and held his hands out. "I said the possibility existed. I did not say that she actually did it. Just that we're pretty damn sure your dad did NOT do so. And that you're not going to find any indication that he did in those books. But you're welcome to them, just the same."

House looked pissed off. The kind of pissed off that caused his eye to twitch and his lips to press together. The kind that Chase feared would be followed by handcuffs, trying to raise bail money, and going through another trial, this time for House.

Den was unaffected by the glare. If anything, he looked sympathetic.

House looked over at Wilson and Wilson was unable to meet his eyes. "Is that what you believe too?"

Wilson shrugged, shook his head, and looked down. He looked miserable. Hell, Chase felt miserable and sick over it. It was a disconcerting and disturbing feeling. "I don't know. Personally? I'd rather believe you just... had a habit of getting sick because of a virus or something. It happens."

"But you think it is possible." House accused, glaring at him.

"Anything is possible. But? It happened years and years ago! It doesn't affect anything now. You're hardly an infant now! You're-- well-- reasonably healthy. You're fine." Wilson said desperately. "You're all right. She maybe played it up a bit. Maybe you just had a virus. I don't KNOW. And we will NEVER know." He stressed. "But... just..." He trailed off in frustration.

"Just read the damn diaries yourself and figure it out on your own you jerk. Torturing your friends ain't going to help you." Turner interrupted. "We're tired, irritated, and sick to death of your lifetime movie drama of the week. Answer the agent's questions already. Shit. We have fish to feed!"

House glared at Turner, but then turned back to the Agent. "What exactly do you want to know?"

The Agent opened a folder and pulled out four sheets of paper. "These four names, I'll only list their first names, are names that correspond with the time period he would have been by himself between assignments. Seito, Marcus, Anthony, annnnd a young man named Tam?"

House was standing behind a chair sighed deeply, looking down as he gripped the back of the chair. "All four of them? Are you sure?"

"You definitely recognize their names then?" Agent Den asked, raising his brows.

House nodded. "Seito lived in Japan. Marcus lived in California. Tony lived in Florida and Tam? Tam... lived in Arizona of all places. He was one of those kids that-- that ended up here after the war. He went to the same university as me. It's where we met." He sighed pulling the chair out and sitting down in it. "Do you all have nothing to do? Go do doctor stuff! Or go home! I'm sure Cuddy doesn't pay you to hang out with me all day!"

"Yes, she does." Foreman quipped back, but he tilted his head toward the door, and the others followed him out all the same.

Chase looked toward the office then at House. "Uh, do you want me to leave too?" He asked. "I could go." He pointed toward the door.

House looked down at the glass table, considering it carefully before finally looking up with a look that couldn't be anything other than challenging. But who was he challenging? Him or himself? "No. Stay. I'm contrary, remember."

"Only if you're sure." Chase said carefully. He didn't want to have this end up biting them both on the arse. House was a private man, just as he tended to be. Maybe this was just so that House didn't have to try to explain later.

"I'm sure that I'm sure. I'm just not sure it is a good idea. But then if I ever only waited for a good idea to strike me, I'd never get anything done." House leaned back in his chair and looked back over to Agent Den. "So... let's get on with this. What do you want me to tell you?"

"According to some of what we discovered, they were all killed in pretty much the same way. Shot. Execution style." Den said without any more preamble. "All four had their hands bound behind them, and shot in the head. The reason this, of course, strikes a cord is because it has been revealed that he killed a teenager in a similar style in Vietnam. Add into it that two victims were Asian and two were black, we're getting into a very sticky area."

"You think it might be racially motivated?" House asked. "Possible. I know he is a bigot. A racist. One that speaks out both sides of his mouth, of course. Lip service in public, and bitches in private."

Agent Den tilted his head. "I'm not wanting to state for a fact that it is. It's a touchy topic. So we'd like to see if there was anything else those four had in common. According to what has filtered back to us, your father has stated that they were trouble makers that probably met their end due to their lifestyle and the fact that they played fast and loose. Hinted that they were potentially gang members, or something."

House scoffed. "Oh, please. They were not." He sneered. "Yes, they got into trouble. But so do a large percentage of kids, now and then! They were not gang members. They had friends, and they hung out, and it was that simple. Yes, Seito, Marcus, and even Tony had a record. Barely. But Tam was a 'good boy'. He never got into any trouble. Is he seriously trying to say that Tam was a gang member?"

"Their deaths are roughly spaced a year to two years apart." Agent Den added as he read over something in his file. "Was there anything about them that may have bothered your father? Something that... you remember?" He asked.

"Everything about them bothered my dad." House gave a bitter chuckle. "Half the reason I was their friend, was because it drove my dad up the wall. They smoked. All four. They were, I-- I spent a lot of my free time with all of them. That drove him nuts."

He paused and Chase tensed as he saw House eyes light up. They widened, and the sparkle came into them as puzzle pieces they could not yet see came together and formed a whole. He slowly looked up and held up a finger to Agent Den. "Each one? Asked if I could stay most the summer or holidays. They were the ones that, I-- confided in. Told how I hated living at home. Then they would ask their parents if I could spend the night more often. The ones that would be likely to keep in contact after we moved, if they would have written back to me. They are the ones that were the most important to me." He said that last part very quietly.

"Their parents, on rare occasions even expressed that I was 'welcome any time'. Almost like trying to partially adopt me. My father considered them meddling." House explained. "Of course, I always just pointed out, I'm friends with their child, so of course they're nice to me. He hated that."

"I think we see the dawning of a motive. He's insulted, irritated, annoyed. Fears them keeping a connection... yadda and etc." Agent Den clicked his tongue. "Now, if we can just find the last links. The proof."

"Good luck with that. No witnesses, obviously, or else they'd be listed. I'm sure there was some ballistics done, but you'd have to have the gun he used back then to match it up. Probably used different guns anyway. Got rid of them. Who knows where. Could be in the ocean for all we know." House ticked off. "You're not going to be able to prove he did it. You can't tie it back to him. He's too careful. He plans things. The only time he screws up, is when he does act on impulse."

Agent Den took a deep breath and let it out before giving him a weak smile. "You hit the problem right on the head. The chances of us proving it? Slim. But for the first time, some of those cases at least have some kind of 'possible' explanation. I talked to the DA this morning, and they are going forward on Aggravated Assault, and he's going to be evaluated by another psychologist. He's going to try and run the Post Traumatic Stress route. His lawyer is trying to do some fancy footwork to get him transferred to a different area. So he can be 'observed'. Or something. I'd have to look up how this state does things." He admitted.

"Figures. If this was up to me? Really? I wouldn't have even bothered with any of this." House shook his head. "There's really no point. But I didn't get a vote. But I'll testify if I have to. Least I can do, I suppose."

Agent Den gathered up his papers then checked his notebook. "Do you by chance remember the last time you saw each of them? What may have been spoken of? I know it was a long time ago."

House snorted. "Vaguely, of course. Seito? It was talking about writing each other, calling, whatever it took. I wanted to save up some money to go to visit, somehow. You know how hopeful the young can be. 'Oh, I'll get a paper route if I have to. Two paper routes! I'll mow lawns! Whatever it takes!' I actually did manage to sock away a few hundred that summer. Worked my ass off. But didn't have enough. Mom was just vaguely amused, but just never really talked about it. Dad told me I was wasting my time. I finally talked mom into letting me call over there, and that is when I found out he'd died. Was killed. Not long after we left."

The older man was quiet for a few minutes and then added. "Two days later? I took the money and blew it on whatever struck my fancy at the time. I got a bike, books, candy, just... whatever. I got a radio too."

Chase frowned to himself and thought that perhaps it was because House had been grieving in his own way, as well as trying to get 'rid' of any reminders of his plans to see Seito. Retail therapy, that was what it was called, wasn't it? In a way, House still engaged in 'Retail therapy'.

"Marcus? Marcus was different. I was about sixteen at that point. His idea was a bit more straight forward. He tried to talk me into just running away until dad and mom were gone, and then come live with him and his folks. He even had a place picked out for me to hide out until people stopped looking for me. Was even willing to set up a 'network' with his friends, to hide me out. Moving me from location to location if necessary. But..." House grimaced. "I chickened out. Hate to admit it, but I was actually scared of what he'd do to me if he caught me trying to do something like that."

"But there were a few times I almost did it." He admitted, nodding his head. "As the time came closer and closer, I kept changing my mind back and forth. It was driving Marcus nuts, but he knew I was just scared. So he didn't give up on me. The last day, he told me that all I had to do was call? And he'd drive up to wherever I was, and he'd come get me. Dad heard us talking, and he blew up. Yelled at both of us. Marcus shouted back. There was the threat of MPs being called, and before I knew it Marcus had to leave and I was being bundled into the car to leave. Mom at that point told me I was not to call or write him."

Once again, he was quiet for a few minutes. "I should have done it anyway. But as soon as we got to the new location? Mom managed to make me feel guilty for wanting to 'leave her' and told me that she loved me, and that leaving would mean that I was leaving her behind. I think at that point I was too guilty to even consider it."

"Come to think of it, dad and mom knew that I was planning on visiting Seito before we left Japan. We'd talked about it, often. Dad shook his head a lot, annoyed. So he knew for months before. And of course, knew that Marcus..." House nodded to himself.

House tapped his fingers against the table and continued. "Tony, was when I was nearly eighteen. Getting ready to leave high school, thinking about college. He wanted me to stay where we were, or go to the same college. Dad thought that was 'stupid', because as far as he was concerned, I was going into the military. Period. He and Tony actually got into it once. In the yard, yelling at each other. Again, with the police, chasing Tony off. Dad and I, we... damn. We fought and fought ourselves over it. I was trying to figure out how the hell I was going to get into college, at the time. By the time we'd settled into the new place, Tony and I had been fighting too. So, I just figured... he'd had enough. I knew I had."

"Tam was when I was twenty, and in college. It was one of those things where it was a coincidence. You know, like the old story about the guy that goes to Rome and meets the girl of his dreams there, to find out that she's from his own state? Very cliche really. He was from Arizona, where my parents were living, while he and I were both attending the same school elsewhere."

"So, come the holidays?" House raised his brows and looked thoughtful. "We went home together. Him to see his parents, me to see mine, sort of. But then I spent most of my time with Tam. Dad. Was. Pissed! It was insulting. It was disrespectful. I 'made mom cry' because I wanted to see someone that I went to school with more than them on a short visit. You can probably imagine the crap that he said, I'm sure."

"Tam's adopted parents were very nice, sweet, and welcomed me with open arms. It was nice. I liked it." House admitted reluctantly. "We went back to school. I put it all behind me, and then Tam had to go home because his mom was sick. I would have gone with him, but exams were coming up, and he said he'd be back. He said that if he wasn't, it wasn't like I couldn't 'find' him. But he promised me, that he would come back." He grimaced.

"Well, eventually he sent word that he wasn't coming back." He sighed. "Just a letter. And no, I don't still have the letter. I was mad, and burned it." He admitted. "But I can tell you, it was his handwriting. So it's a moot point anyway."

"My parents of course, moved. I thought about going to Arizona anyway, to confront Tam. Take him up on the 'you can find me' thing. But, I was too resentful by then. I told myself that if he cared, he'd contact ME. He knew where I was too. And I had already written him in return, the phone number was disconnected. So that didn't work. So I waited for him to let me know..." He shook his head. "Well, guess the joke is on me, hm?"

"Opportunity, motive, it's all there to find. We just need the last piece." Den stated. He finished his notes and shoved it into his pocket. "Just one last question. Did your father suspect you had a sexual relationship with these people?"

House seemed to consider it very carefully before answering. "I honestly do not know. I do know he wouldn't have liked it, at all. But I think he would have faced me directly about it, if he did. He may have subconsciously suspected, though." He admitted.

Den nodded. "I'll let you know if we find anything. In the meantime? Call us if you remember any thing more or think of something."

House nodded, and waited for the agent to leave before turning back to Chase. "Well?"

"Well... what?" Chase asked carefully, trying to keep his face as blank as possible.

"Anything. Questions. Comments. Ask now or forever hold your peace. Thoughts?" House offered. "Limited time offer only."

"I think that your dad is going to get away with murder." Chase sighed, closing his eyes. "I think he's a controlling arsehole that tried to keep you under his power. I don't think anyone poisoned you. I think you probably just tended to be sickly as a child. I think your family is more screwed up than mine. I think that, all this is going to do? Is leave you twisted up in knots, and nothing is ever going to get resolved. And I think that you came by your intelligence honestly. Questions? None about the case. None about your parents. And I don't even know how to properly phrase the ones I might have. None that wouldn't put you on the defensive."

"I also think that you said once that people accused YOU of faking as a child, and that to this day you have issues with people thinking that you're playing up or faking your leg pain. I also think that is why you fought so hard for Hot OTB Babe, as you called her." Chase stated. "And for the record. I don't think you've ever faked it."

House's chin was against his chest as he stared at the top of the table. "So. No questions. Right?"

"No. No questions." Chase confirmed. He couldn't see where he could ask any question right now that would help either of them. He wanted to wrap his arms around him, though. Wished that he could take House's cane and smack House's father on the back of the head with it. He wished that he could go back in time, and just stop it all from happening. But if wishes were fishes, we could all walk to Australia.

There was nothing he could do. It was frustrating. He couldn't even get up and pace to work off the irritation.

"Well, I've got to go pee." House announced, standing up abruptly and striding out of the conference room, leaving Chase alone.

"Give me strength." Chase muttered a small prayer, though he wasn't always sure if he was talking to himself, or to God when he asked for such things.

--

House had returned not long afterward, and Chase had to consider that perhaps for once, the man had actually gone to use the bathroom. Really? It seemed that for House a lot of his life revolved around the bathroom. Of course, one of his areas of study was the kidneys, but there had been times that Chase thought that House just liked to play in the bathroom. Not to mention, most the time, women wouldn't go in there. And most of those in authority in House's life, were women.

House had said nothing as he started to sort through the boxes in earnest. He tossed the boxes with clothes over to the side, along one of the walls. Toys, he did the same. It was the books he was interested in at this point. The ones that would tell him the most!

Chase didn't offer to help him go through the books. It was probably bad enough that he'd heard as much as he had. It was even worse that there had been agents reading through them. The last thing House needed was Chase being privy to whatever it was that had actually pinged them enough to consider Blythe a possible suspect.

Instead, he made himself busy with crosswords and reading various texts that were available to him. Occasionally, he would find himself chatting with one of the newbies. But other than that, he was quietly watching House as covertly as he could. Watching his face, and particularly his eyes.

For the most part, it looked like House was bored. But at some point, it must have gotten interesting, because House was flipping pages back and forth, frowning, and reading and re-reading certain parts.

Wilson came in, cleaning up coffee cups and the remains of lunch and then left without speaking to House at all. He wondered if perhaps Wilson and the others had already looked at the books, after all? He kind of hoped they hadn't. Though, he did understand the desire to do so.

It wasn't until House threw the book down on the table, looking angry at it, that Chase finally spoke. "Are you all right?"

"Yes." House practically hissed the word as he glared at the books.

Not going to ask. Not going to ask. Not going to ask. If Chase said it enough, he would keep himself from doing just that. If House wanted him to know, he would. If he did not, he wouldn't.

House stood up, grabbing his cane and paced back and forth. Finally, he couldn't help but ask. "Are you all right? Is your leg hurting?" The leg seemed to be a default safety setting for some reason. Blaming the leg was safe for all concerned. It was an 'out'. A way of saving face, in some cases.

"Cramping." House grumbled as he went back and forth, glaring at the room in general. He paused long enough to pop a pill and then started prowling back and forth again.

Chase nodded, as though accepting that for the reason. He knew that House probably read something that had upset or disturbed him. The curiosity was killing him! But there was no good way of asking. None! He wanted to slam his head down on the table, repeatedly, until the curiosity went away.

House gathered up the books already laid out and started tossing them with a vengeance into the boxes they had come from. Oh, yes, he was definitely mad about something his mother had written.

Thomas peeked his head into the conference room. "Pft." He shook his head. "Get over it. Mommy wasn't perfect. At least you're not as screwed up as you could have been. And you're alive!" He pulled out of the doorway and headed down the hallway before House could find something to throw at him.

Now, House was out an out pissed. With that one pronouncement, it was obvious that they had in fact read the diaries. House gripped his cane harder in his hand and started toward the door. Chase rolled quickly forward, toward him. "House! No! Don't. He's not worth it. It'll just make it worse."

"It'll make me feel better." House assured, holding his cane up like a bat for a moment.

"For a moment, and then Tritter will happily march you off to jail and everything falls apart." Chase swore. "You want to give him a reason? This would be the reason. Don't! I still don't trust him. And I know you don't either. Besides, is this going to have made them 'unread' it?"

House stalked back to the table, glaring at the box of books.

Since it was starting to 'show' itself, Chase felt he had little to lose right now. "Your mom wrote something that's ticked you off."

"No. Yes. Kind of." House admitted grudgingly, looking away and toward the far wall.

"Did she write anything incriminating herself?" Chase prompted, feeling a sense of dread. He sincerely hoped that Blythe did not do anything. He didn't like the woman, no. But it would be worse if she'd abused House too, especially if House had always considered her his ally.

"No. Not really." House shook his head. He took a deep breath and grimaced. "I can see how it could be read that way? But I think they read too much INto it. They were looking for it, and they found what they wanted to find. It's like anything else. Pick the specialist, you pick your disease. A virologist could read that account and find probably five different diseases I could have had as a child. A criminologist, or someone familiar with medical related abuses, would see a 'by Proxy' case in there. They saw what they wanted to see. Just like, I probably hoped to read what I wanted to see if it was dad. But I don't think it was either. I was just unlucky as a kid."

"She just wanted dad to pay attention to me, and when I was sick in the beginning he did. So later when he was just annoyed by it, she was confused by his change in attitude. This is exactly why I hate it when doctors start to apply Munchausen as a diagnosis. It's crap. Can't find out what is wrong? Let's just blame the patient or the mom. Even when someone is faking, there's probably still SOMETHING wrong with them, somewhere. And if you label them such? No one will ever take them seriously again, and then you end up with a dead patient at some point. Do you have any idea how many sentences have been overturned since they started using Munchausen as a possible diagnosis? It DOES happen. Yes. But it isn't nearly as prevalent as the media would like us to believe. And a lot of innocent people have been nailed for it, when they didn't do it. That's why they should delve deeper in those cases..."

"So you're pretty sure they are reading it 'wrong'?" Chase probed.

House nodded. "Yeah, that part, they are. It's the other stuff I'm not happy about."

"What, other stuff? Or should I just drop it?" Chase asked. Because the main thing had been the poisoning right? If House found no evidence of such in the writing then what was the problem?

"My mother?" House frowned. "She was..." He sighed rolling his eyes before looking down toward his feet and grimacing. "What is a nice way of calling someone whorish trailer trash?"

"Uhhhh, low income freestyling woman of questionable taste and morals?" Chase winced, while offering a small helpless smile.

"That works for now." House nodded to himself. "I need to remember that one for later."

"This is, well, not good news? But at least it isn't uh... worse news?" Chase scratched the back of his head and grimaced. "I mean, it could have been worse, right?"

"It could be worse." House admitted, standing up again and glaring at the boxes. "We'll lock these up in my office and then go home."

House stacked a few of the light boxes on Chase's lap and then grabbed one under his arm before lumbering toward his office to stack them up beside his desk. Chase turned his chair to get another load when he saw RJ creeeeeeping into the conference room. Heading straight for the blue care bear. Chase bit back a smile as the male nurse swiftly grabbed it from its perch near the coffee and then bolted for the door. Chase heard the faint humming of the 'Mission Impossible' theme song, and stifled a laugh.

House didn't notice it at first as he returned to the conference room, getting a few more boxes. But then he narrowed his eyes. "Something, has been moved."

Chase nodded. "Blue, fuzzy, with a storm cloud."

"Thieves! It's a sad day when someone steals a man's teddy bear." House said in a woeful tone.

"No sadder than the day a man steals a CHILD'S teddy bear from his grandmother." Chase smirked.

"Then it is a sad day all the way around." House decided. "So we shall just go on home, and eat ice cream and braid each other's hair."

"Sounds like a plan, but I get to paint your nails first." Chase smirked as House grabbed his crutches for later and laid them in his lap.

Chase knew that House was still in a bad mood, was still upset, and still a bit angry at the others. Chase figured they'd never even considered that House may not have wanted them to look at it, because they had treated it like any other case. And therein lay the problem. In order to be objective, they had to separate themselves from who it was about. House would even want them to do that, when he thought about it in an abstract. And if they treated it objectively, and as though it was anyone else? He would fully expect them to go through the pictures and the journals.

And yet, at times, it was impossible for House to maintain the facade of distancing himself from it all, and would get upset when they did exactly what he expected them to do, because he was still trying to keep his secrets secret.

This was a sore that needed to be aired out and left to dry. Checked, cleaned, and left alone.

In other words, no one should speak of it, and let House get over it. It wasn't meant to be an invasion of privacy. They got no joy out of reading anything they read. And they weren't going to use it against him. They would and should talk to him like normal, and let it just smooth over.

It was a passive way of dealing with it, but sometimes, that was for the best.

Chase winced to himself and thought about Wilson. He sincerely hoped the man didn't take it into his head to try and question House about it in the interest of his 'mental' health and well-being. He could totally picture Wilson insisting that House 'needs' to talk about it. That they need to go through it and deconstruct it or however else Wilson would want to phrase it. Insist that House was carrying it as a burden on his shoulders, or something, and that he would till he talked to him.

There was probably truth to it, but damned if now was the time to do that! Later, after the dust settled maybe. After House had a chance to sort through it himself.

They caught a ride from Wilson, who looked dead tired on his feet, and was unnaturally quiet as well. Wilson had bags under his eyes, and looked like he'd worked overtime on a particularly bad case.

Chase could swear he saw some sort of guilt on Wilson's face, and wondered if it was just from reading the journals and knowing that House probably knew by now? Or if he'd done something else. He couldn't really put it past Wilson to have gone behind House's back and done something that House wouldn't approve of, because Wilson had done it before. Always with the nicest of intentions, always for House's so-called benefit, but rarely did Wilson actually ever accomplish any of his intentions. The man was just not that good at working out what was best for himself, much less anyone else.

Every once in a while on the ride home, Chase saw Wilson start to open his mouth, and then would shut it abruptly. Chase would hold his breath each time, waiting for the shoe to drop. At some point, he was almost willing to just 'get it over with'. Either that, or get some duct tape, and tape the man's mouth shut all together. He wasn't sure which was the better idea.

The one time that Wilson did say something, it didn't seem to make any real sense in the scheme of things. Nothing to feel sorry about, at least. "I cleaned the apartment, and took the garbage out... Since I had no appointments and wanted to... yeah... It's, not important." Wilson trailed off, still looking nervous and guilty. At one point, Chase thought Wilson looked almost like he wanted to cry. Which merely made Chase's stomach tighten more. What had they read that was so damn bad that Wilson looked so upset. House indicated it wasn't that bad. That people were blowing it out of proportion. And while Wilson could certainly do such at times, he wasn't usually this bad about it. There was something going on, that House wasn't telling him about. Or perhaps something that House didn't know, himself?

If House noticed, he gave no indication of such. Just looked out the window and watched the scenery go by. Lost in his own thoughts.

Needless to say, it was one of the longer car rides for Chase.

--

"I think, it is time to start looking for our dog." House announced, settling down on the couch instead of his chair. Wilson was puttering around in the kitchen, still avoiding House and yet hovering. It was a bit annoying really, but Chase said nothing of it. Part of him wanted to. Part of him was still hoping for everything to blow over quietly.

He had opened his laptop and booted it up while he waited for Chase to come sit with him. "And how do we go about that?" He'd imagined just going down to the shelter and looking around, or contacting a breeder or something.

House typed into the address bar '' and waited for the screen to load up. It seemed to be taking a long time and House frowned. "There is a disturbance in the force..." He pronounced solemnly, and then checked the signal strength. "HEY Wilson? Would you uncover my router thingymajig so that I can get a better signal?"

Chase heard rather than saw Wilson go into the bedroom to take care of it. "If you would stop stacking things on it..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." House muttered as he refreshed the page with the better signal and it finally booted up.

"Well that's kind of handy." Chase peered at the page closer, leaning in beside House as he watched him make selections. Dog. He skipped the age group, and selected medium for the size. Any for gender, and then the zip code they lived in.

"Look at all those pit bulls." House muttered. The next page was mostly terriers of different kinds. A few boxers, some shepherds, even one pomeranian. "Look at that, it's like a cotton ball with legs!"

"I think it is kind of cute." Chase admitted almost reluctantly.

"We could use it to dust the floors, throw a ball around the room, and as it chases it, it'll dust the floor!" House pointed out.

"Houuuuuse." Chase laughed. "Oh, wook at dat face." He pointed to one of the dogs on the next page.

"Did you just use baby talk? For real? Don't make me give you an MRI. Besides, if I want to see a face like that, I'll go in the kitchen. Wilson's been giving me puppy eyes since we got in the car earlier." House rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Besides, her name is Gorgeous. Do you really want to go into the backyard and yell, come here Gorgeous! You'd end up with about ten women trying to climb into your pants, and then I'd have to go to jail for beating them with my cane. No. Just... no."

"Well, that's a new reason to turn down a dog prospect." Chase laughed again.

It took four pages before they started to find a dog that might interest House. A hound dog.

"Look at those jowls." Chase raised his brows.

"It's just part of their charm." House insisted.

House after a few minutes of looking further, changed the zip code a little in the sidebar, looking in a different place in the state. "Oh, look at that one, its cute!"

"I don't like its name." House insisted.

Chase sighed and groaned. "We could change the name you know?"

"No, we can't! That would be like... me suddenly saying my name isn't Greg House anymore. It's Bryan Dunbar."

"It is not!" Chase argued.

"Yes it is." House insisted.

"Is not."

"Is too."

"Is not!"

"Is TOO!"

Wilson came into the room, a towel over his shoulder, hands on his hips. "Do I have to put you two in separate corners?"

House responded maturely and with great dignity.

He stuck his tongue out.

Wilson sighed and went back into the kitchen shaking his head.

"I've never heard of a Tibetan Spaniel before." Chase frowned, looking closer at the cute little dog that had almost 'posed' for the photo.

"Doesn't matter, it doesn't like small kids. See the symbol." House pointed out.

"House? We don't have kids." Chase patiently pointed out.

"No, but if they don't like small kids, they don't like me, as a general rule." He explained. "So knowing this? If you see that symbol? We avoid those." He nodded.

Chase fluttered his eyes as he looked heavenward. It just figured.

The entire next page, was 'off limits'. This was not going to be as simple as Chase had hoped. It seemed like such an easy idea. Pick out a dog, get dog, take care of dog. Oi! Nothing with House was simple, apparently.

Tri-State Basset Hound Rescue?

A couple of clicks and they were at the homepage to read what was necessary to be considered to adopt a dog from them. "A home visit?" House raised his brows and snorted. He looked around and then kind of shrugged. "I'll have him spruce up the back yard a bit, make sure the fencing is solid, yadda." He told Chase.

It was a long application, and rather in depth. House at one point made a face and said. "Why don't they ask how often I go to the potty and might leave the dog alone while we're at it." But he was just bitching to hear himself bitch.

"I think they just want to make sure that the dog isn't left alone entire weekends and stuff." Chase offered regardless. "Your hours are generally listed as being from what? Nine to four? I don't think that will work against us. And we both have good jobs."

Well, when they were allowed to work, that was.

Application taken care of, they were both aware it could take quite a while before they knew more about the situation. So it was ticked off in Chase's mind as 'no longer a concern'. Either they'd be approved, or they wouldn't.

Wilson was hovering again! Again with the hovering. Chase wanted to tell him, spit it out and get it over with at this point. Even though he had a good idea what Wilson wanted to talk about, and didn't particularly want him to bring it up, anything had to be better than this fluttering about and wringing his hands together. Unless of course, it was worse than he thought, and then he didn't want to know really... no, yes, no... well... maybe. Argh!

House was aware of Wilson doing so, because finally he just looked back at him and said, "Spill it before you give yourself a heart attack. Because, CPR isn't nearly as sexy anymore since they decided that it is more important to keep doing chest compressions rather than mouth to mouth!"

"Um... It's just that..." Wilson offered and then winced. He looked like someone about to confess a great and terrible crime.

"One." House counted quietly, holding up a finger.

"I know that in the past you've done stuff like this, but somehow it's different when we do it too and..." Wilson winced again, looking away toward the far wall.

"Two." House held up two fingers.

Wilson asked. "Do I get at least a five count?"

"No." House started to threaten to hold up the third finger.

"We ran a paternity test on you." Wilson finished in a rush, and then pressed a hand against his mouth for a moment, as though he couldn't quite believe that he'd said it at all.

House's hand froze in mid-position and then slowly lowered to his lap. He faced the television and then asked quietly. "Well?"

"You... want the results?" Wilson asked quietly.

"You ran it for a reason, and you brought it up. Therefore, you must have the results now. So? What is the verdict?" House asked with a bored tone. "Nope, don't even have to answer." He stalled Wilson when the other man finally managed to open his mouth.

"If you're bringing it up, then that already tells me the result." House said in an even voice, fiddling with his laptop, and typing in a porn site address. "Otherwise, you would have happily and contentedly never told me at all. The only reason to bring it up? Is that it came out different than what it should have."

Chase though, had no idea what the hell was going on, really. He knew from the evidence presented verbally, just now, that the paternity test had to show that House wasn't John's son, but, that didn't tell Chase who they tested him against to prove it! He wasn't aware if they had a sample of John, at this point? Or did they have another suspect? And if so, who?

Then he paused as things slotted into place like another puzzle piece. Only one male in House's family had been around recently. Wilson made a point of saying he'd taken the garbage out, and cleaned up. He'd cleaned up the coffee cups from the conference room as well. And only one male relative of House's, seemed to carry a hell of a lot of guilt around with him...

"Why in the HELL did you do this?" Chase asked angrily. Lee was dying, and gone, and now it was all too late anyway! What was the point in ripping the scab off of this, and making it bleed now?

Wilson turned hurt eyes on him and then said truthfully. "Because when House and I discussed your dad's prognosis, and whether or not he should tell you the truth, despite being asked by Rowan 'not to'. And my pointing out the ethics of the situation, that we aren't to reveal such information... House said that if it was him, he'd want to know."

"House also didn't tell me." Chase pointed out, trying to hold on to the anger, but feeling it slip away in light of what Wilson revealed. "He kept his word in the end!"

"Only because when I called you in, to tell you, you told me you didn't care anymore." House said quietly. "I was going to tell you, until that moment. But you swore, you... didn't care."

"I lied." Chase admitted painfully. "To myself." He added after a second, closing his eyes.

"Everybody lies." House whispered. "Even to ourselves, but I figured even if you were lying to yourself, you weren't ready to stop yet."

"What are you going to do now?" Chase asked, letting his head fall backward, staring up at the ceiling as he did so.

"Watch television." House sighed, shutting his computer down after a moment. "I think there's a new episode of--"

"I meant about Lee?" Chase interrupted, giving him an exasperated look.

House met his eyes and said, "Nothing. He didn't tell me. Probably couldn't bring himself to. Could be he suspected, but didn't know how to own up to it. Whatever the reasons, it's too late now. John House is my father, for better or for worse, and Lee will always be my favorite Uncle. He's dying. He wants to do it without witnesses. Chase? Nothing has changed. I always knew Lee loved me. Do you think he would love me any more or less for being a son rather than a great-nephew?" He asked. "Do you think I love him less? No. Am I disappointed in him? Maybe a little, but what is the point in... making it worse? I don't want to be disappointed in one of the few people in my life that loved me unconditionally and always stood by my decisions. I'll remember him fondly, always. And I can't quite get on a high horse and say 'oh my god he slept with a married woman?' Considering I did it myself. Adultery has existed so long as marriage has existed. I promise, I'm not going to slit my wrists to the music of whatever emo bands are popular right now." He promised. "Now? Can I watch television?" He asked. "Please? I'm missing the intro! It sets up the plot for the whole show!"

"Are you mad at us?" Wilson asked quietly, looking down at the floor, his hands in his pockets. To Chase it reminded him of a little boy wanting some kind of assurance that he was still loved.

"For what? Doing what I would have done?" House asked. "I can be a hypocrite, yeah. I can be 'not happy' about it. But I'm not mad at you." He finally told him. "I just hate that Tommy read them too."

"If it makes you feel any better? It isn't like he cackled in glee." Wilson offered. "He doesn't seem to be too... awful... once you start to get to know him. Your cousin Noah on the other hand..."

"Issss a bastard. Yes. I know." House nodded. "Bit of a moron too, if I have to be completely honest. But I'm a bastard too. So, can't hold that against him. And his being a moron can be blamed on HIS mom. He got a bit of brain damage when he was a kid. None of us talk about it, of course. But Noah got sick, and his mother didn't take him to the hospital or a doctor. Let the fever get out of control." He shook his head. "Didn't believe in doctors, she always said that they 'caused' more problems than solved."

Wilson winced. "That's... Terrible. I wish I had known."

House shrugged. "He's fine. He's not the sharpest tool in the shed, sure. But he's not sitting in a corner drooling either. He may not be a surgeon or a doctor, but he can landscape your yard and build things. He's all right." He wrinkled his nose and flapped a hand dismissively. "So, are we finished with this ooey gooey bonding moment? I have TV to watch. Do you not realize this? You're just lucky I have TiVo."

"Yes. Done now. I'll finish supper." Wilson pressed his lips together and licked them from the inside and turned to go into the kitchen.

"Hey." House called back over his shoulder. Wilson hesitated in the kitchen doorway, giving him a questioning look.

"Landlord is getting ready to advertise for some new tenants in two of the apartments here. Upstairs, and next door. Old lady croaked, and the old guy upstairs is moving to Florida." House told him. "Give the manager guy your cell number, reasonable rent, and close to the hospital. Lots of room for your junk."

Wilson smiled a little and gave a half nod.

House leaned in and told Chase in a whisper, "Caught him while he still feels guilty and sad. Makes him feel like he's doing me a favor." He winked, and then turned back to the television.

Chase silently laughed, shaking his head. Emotional trauma, world turning upside down, or any other various types of crisis? It didn't stall House for long before he was on to his next conspiracy against someone. Of course, he suspected that House would still brood on everything, but he'd do it when no one was watching. Where no one can turn it into a bigger production. For now, he'd play to the audience when it suited him to do so.

-- 


	83. Chapter 83

Chase wasn't sure exactly when it was that he woke up and became aware that House wasn't in bed with him. For a while, he drifted in that strange place where one wasn't sure if they were still dreaming, although a very boring dream, or was in fact awake. And sometimes, it was easy to drift back and forth between a dream and a light doze. It was only when he heard a grunt from a distance that he tried to become more aware of what was really going on. He blinked, as he realized that the space beside him was cold.

Instead, he was pacing the floor in the living room. It was only the steady thump of the cane that told him such since from his position he could not actually see the other man. Once in a while, there was a pause, and then it would continue on. And then there was that irritated grunt from the other man, that told him there was pain involved.

He wearily blinked his eyes a few times, trying to clear the remaining sleep out of them as he focused on the clock nearby. Four in the morning? Too early for this shite.

For a moment, he considered grabbing the crutches nearby and trying to use them. But he'd already been cautioned that he was not to try to practice with them unless someone was supervising. If he fell, he could do a great deal of damage and set his recovery backward by quite a bit. So instead, he pulled the chair closer and moved himself carefully off the bed and into it.

He was getting almost phobic about the chair. Like it was closing in on him, or that it was eating him alive somehow. It was irrational, he knew that. But he hated that damn chair at this point. Sometimes, he was angry at the chair. Like right now. He wanted so much to just be able to stand up and walk to the door, rather than have to move things around, drag himself over, and then push himself across the floor. He knew it wasn't the chair's fault, but it didn't stop him from hating it all the same.

"House?" He called out to the other man before he actually reached the doorway.

The heavy tread paused, and Chase knew that House had heard him. But rather than call back, he continued to pace in the other room. Plodding back and forth with a determination usually seen in the insect world. Completely singleminded. On the other hand? When House was focused, he usually was such.

As Chase neared the doorway, he could see that House had one hand clutching his leg, rubbing it, as he tried to walk out the cramp. Chase was silent as he watched. House, in return, ignored him studiously as he made his circuit around the room. Lumbering ever onward as though he could out-walk the pain. But he may as well have been trying to out-walk his shadow for all the good it was doing him.

Chase stayed out of his way, and instead folded his hands in his lap silently. It didn't matter what House had said earlier in the evening. This was bothering him. He was refusing to let it hurt him mentally or emotionally, so instead? It was hurting him physically. Either way? He would still feel the pain. But physical pain was more acceptable in House's mind than mental or emotional pain. So his brain and body converted it to what he would accept and try to deal with more directly.

It didn't mean the pain was any less real. On the contrary? It was worse this way. He could just imagine the feeling of red-hot needles jammed into his thigh in time with the cramp and the beat of his heart.

Depression could and did cause real physical manifestations of pain. And the pain wasn't any less valid because of the cause, no matter what some of the more traditional minded-community thought. Add into it that the man had actual nerve damage, and it was a cocktail for misery if there ever was one. Not for the first time, Chase wondered what could possibly be done? Anything? Nothing? Would he be in pain till the day he finally said 'fuck this' and let himself 'go'? The thought sent a chill down Chase's spine and made his heart ache. He knew logically, that the chances of House dying before him were extremely high. But emotionally? He hoped never to see it.

There were no words that would make it better. Chase figured that if he tried to say anything, it would just make it worse for House. Forcing House to realize that one was related to the other, that his leg was acting up in a terrible manner because he'd had an emotional shock at one point, would not resolve it any faster. House would just deny it, become angry, bitter, withdrawn.

Chase realized that he himself was becoming tense when he reached up and rubbed his neck, which was starting to get sore. Well, it would do neither of them any good if they were both sore and hurting. Chase closed his eyes and blew out a slow breath, calm. Calm. Disconnect and disengage. Compassion, but distance. Something he was to learn as a Priest and something he had to learn as a doctor as well. Sometimes, it was interesting how both professions had similar ideals associated with each of them. Just one was meant to manage and heal the soul, and the other was to manage and heal the body.

Rubbing his eyes, Chase allowed himself to yawn. "Would you like something to drink?" He asked House as he pointed toward the kitchen. "I'm thirsty."

He could ask House if he was all right. But the answer was obvious and it would invite mocking. It was far far too early in the damn morning to deal with mocking. He needed at least two more hours sleep before he was ready for something like that.

He could ask him if he'd taken his pain meds, but that was another 'stupid' question as it would be obvious to any fool that House would never neglect or forget to take his pills unless he was trying to make or prove a point.

House shook his head after looking at him a moment, and continued on his circuit around the room. Chase carefully navigated around him and into the kitchen, opening the fridge and pulling out the jug of milk and then pulling a glass off the counter where a few were stored so Chase could reach them. Pouring himself a little bit, he put the milk back and then sipped it thoughtfully.

It was unthinkable that he'd not at least imply that he cared. He wasn't heartless, after all. But it needed to be done in such a way that House wouldn't take it as patronizing, condescending, or as though he was pressuring him to 'talk' about anything. As he finished his milk, he set it into the sink and pushed himself out of the kitchen.

Pausing as he neared the bedroom he looked over at House and said. "I love you, goodnight!" And then continued into the bedroom without looking back.

His heart was beating in his chest a bit harder than strictly necessary. It wasn't often he said that, and usually when he did, he was drugged, hurt, or overly tired. But this was premeditated.

Climbing into the bed, he took another deep breath and let it out slowly as he pulled the covers up to his shoulders and tried to relax.

The thump of his cane started up again, but this time, it was coming closer to the doorway. Chase tried to resist looking up, but as he heard him enter the room itself, he was unable to stop himself. Chase raised his brows, half-surprised. He was completely surprised when House lay his cane against the dresser and climbed into bed behind him. He continued to rub his leg, but still, he did not seem to have any intention of getting back up. Chase could feel the jerk of the spasms in his leg, and knew that the pain was still here. There was no magical remedy. Love didn't fix everything.

Laying on his back, Chase slipped an arm the best he could under House's shoulders, prompting the older man to lean up a second and then shift closer. House turned slightly to his side, toward Chase, using his shoulder as a pillow. The hand that had been rubbing steadily at his leg eventually stopped and came to rest over Chase's stomach as House closed is eyes and started to relax. The spasms were still there, but they were a minor twitch in comparison.

Chase waited till he was sure that House was breathing evenly and potentially asleep before he allowed himself to also fall asleep. He was suddenly exhausted, feeling like he'd just successfully either crossed a minefield, or perhaps disarmed a bomb. He felt accomplished, but extremely tired, and his sleep was at least content for now.

--

"Okay, this is going to sound completely... but, I can't resist. Dude? Where's my car?" Chase finally asked House later that morning after a bit more sleep and some breakfast. "I just know you had something to do with it. I've had time to think about it. I've called the tow trucks and such. No one seems to know where my car is!"

"Now, why on earth would you think I had anything to do with it?" House asked, trying to look surprised and innocent. But Chase had known him enough years to see the tell-tale marks that screamed 'I've been naughty'. House was caught, and he knew he was caught and further more, he knew that Chase knew that he knew he was caught. Chase had to stop himself on that line of thinking to prevent giving himself possible brain damage from untwisting the sentence.

"Look, I admit it has slipped my mind over the last few weeks because of everything going on. But I really will need my car back. It's a good little car! Decent gas milage. The insurance is reasonable on it. And it starts when the weather is cold or wet. I want. My. Car!" Chase said patiently as possible. "I've probably got fines up the wazoo at this point, and it's hard enough to pay bills without running it up higher and higher. If we get it out now, maybe I can make some arrangements of some kind..."

House scratched the inside of his arm thoughtfully, as though inspecting it as his nails raked along the skin. "I can honestly and with complete sincerity say... I don't know where your car is." He wasn't meeting Chase's eyes.

Chase narrowed his eyes as he saw a flash of guilt streak across House's eyes before disappearing into blankness. The man was looking somewhere toward Chase's chest now, but still hadn't ventured upward yet. "What do you mean, you don't know where it is? You are the one that had it towed, aren't you?" Chase had a sinking feeling in his stomach at this point.

"Now whyever would I do that?" House asked, once more trying to look innocent by widening his eyes and looking up briefly into Chase's eyes.

"Because you're insane? To drive me crazy? To KEEP me here so you could eventually have your wicked way with me? Do you need a reason to do things like that? Either way, you should still have an idea of where they towed it to. You've lived here long enough. You pay attention to details that no one else would bother with. Therefore logic dictates that you should have an idea of where my car is. So, why don't you know where my car IS?" He asked voice getting slightly louder at the end.

He realized he probably sounded faintly panicked, but he was having visions of his car being smashed into a cube somewhere at some dump. Or possibly divided into parts in some chop-shop. What if he'd just assumed that his car was towed? And it has been stolen?

"Uhhhhh..." He winced and closed his eyes for a second before opening them and looking back at Chase. "They seem to have... misplaced your car." House finally admitted. "They have the paperwork that they did pick it up? But the can't seem to figure out where they put it afterward."

"WHAT?" Chase's eyes opened wide and he gripped the armrests of his chair. For a moment, he had the impulse to jump out of his chair and lean over House. He made a half-aborted movement to do such, but then the two braces reminded him that while he probably could? It would also probably set back his recovery and he'd be damned if he did that to himself now.

House seemed to realize that because for a moment, he reared back as though expecting Chase to loom over him. He gave him a considering look before relaxing again.

"Temper, temper. I'm sure they'll find it. Eventually." House cleared his throat and looked away with a tiny shrug. He looked back, a bit disconcerted, and Chase realized that he was still gripping the armrests so tightly that his knuckles were white. His arms were trembling with the force of his grip and his face felt as though it was cramping in the scowl it was trapped in. House finally continued, "That is not my fault. I didn't tell them to lose your car! That's entirely on them. I called them the next day! They keep saying they're looking for it!"

"I need my car, House!" Chase told him, running an irritated hand through his hair. His teeth grinding together. "How do they just LOSE a car? Are they going to get it back? Has it been reported to the police? Why haven't I been informed?"

"You... kind of were." House cleared his throat again and snatched up the newspaper, looking intently at an article.

Chase made another abortive 'bounce' as though to stand, and shook his chair in irritation. He hated be stuck like this. He wanted to pace, he wanted to go out and physically look for his car. He wanted to do something about this, and take control of the situation. He slammed his fist down on the armrest, only pulling the blow a second before impact to lessen it in case his bones were still too soft. Last thing he needed was a cast on his hand. But he was feeling... really irrational. But at the same time? He felt as though his temper was a runaway train.

Again, House glanced up with the disconcerted look, looking at Chase as though he'd never seen him before. "They told 'you'. Kind of." He repeated, watching him now as though observing a patient or perhaps a science experiment.

"WHAT?" Chase gaped at the other man. Again, an abortive attempt to stand. "What do you MEAN I was informed? WHEN? When I was asleep? While I was in surgery? While I was sedated or under pain meds? When?"

"Well, it wasn't really you, per se." He admitted reluctantly, folding the paper up and laying it down as he tilted his head while still looking down at the newspaper's headline. The paper was still between his fingers as he flipped it over to look at the other side. "But it isn't like they had a picture ID to prove that it was or wasn't you." He still wouldn't look up from the newspaper, and he once more refused to meet Chase's eyes, even after Chase reached out and snatched the paper out of his hands.

"You pretended to be ME?" He demanded to know, slamming the paper down on the table a few times.

"Sort of. I mean, I didn't dissuade them from the notion that I was you." He clicked his tongue quietly, raising his brows and once more studying Chase. "I didn't think you needed to be worried about such things. You were sick, injured, and had enough to worry about."

"I want my car, House!" Chase grabbed his hair in both hands and groaned, squeezing his eyes closed and gritting his teeth so hard he felt as though they were starting to move in his gums.

"It's just a car, it can be replaced." House told him. Chase was almost surprised to hear that the voice was trying to be soothing. He leaned over and down, closer. "Chase? It's all right. It's going to BE all right. You're... frustrated and I think..." He trailed off.

Chase was losing control? Was that what House was going to say? That Chase was grabbing onto this as an excuse to turn loose the frustrated and angry feelings he kept bottling up from being trapped by his own body? Chase felt as though ice water was dumped down his back as his stomach dropped down again. He was lashing out at House, wasn't he? The beginning of trying to push him away? Fuck.

"Oh, god, this is so embarrassing." Chase covered his face with his hands and spoke in a mumble. "I can't believe this is happening." He felt bad. Guilty. He knew how he could get. And yet he still let slip the control.

"Why? What's embarrassing about them losing your car? They're the ones that look incompetent and idiotic. They're the ones that are going to have a bit of a bad reputation from now on. It's not your fault." House looked confused, and then slowly a light appeared in his eyes and there was a moment of 'Ah HA!' "Chase? What was IN the car that you didn't want people to find?"

"Nothing." Chase tried to lie as he spoke against the palms of his hands, his face still covered and his eyes closed. "And that wasn't what I meant."

"Ohhhh, it was something. And we're going to be manly-men and completely ignore the fact that you just had a temper tantrum. So don't worry about it. Instead? We're going to talk about what you're hiding in your car! You might as well tell me. I'll wiggle it out of you eventually. So you might as well give in now." House sing-songed.

"Come on, give. What is so embarrassing you don't want them to find? Because, as much as you like your car? There's something else in there, I just KNOW it. Tellll meeeee your seeecrets." House tried to make his voice sound like an old gypsy woman's on an old black and white movie. He added a cackle for good measure and Chase nearly smiled, almost but not quite feeling better. It also made him feel a little warm inside to realize, House was purposely trying to make it easier on him. Trying in his own way, to comfort him, without making it more awkward. Well, more awkward in an overly emotional way. It was still awkward.

Chase refused to answer, instead, he kept his face covered and tried to will the floor to swallow him whole. Because there were in fact things in the car, now that he thought about it, that he didn't want others to know about. He'd nearly forgotten. Hell, perhaps, he subconsciously remembered. No, he was rationalizing. Letting himself adopt House's ready-made excuse to save face in a way.

"It would probably be in the trunk, whatever it is. Now, I don't see YOU as the serial killer type. Though well, apparently they can be anyone. Even Wednesday Addams! And we all know YOU have issues. Even if you don't have braided pigtails. But, I think you're smart enough not to put a body in your trunk." House joked, making light of his father's situation at the same time as trying to provoke Chase. "Well, unless you were in a hurry that night. But considering your back? I doubt you wanted to lift your own body much less someone elses!"

Chase moved two of his fingers apart and peeked through them, trying to project the idea that he was 'not amused', before closing them back up. But he was actually rather amused by the 'diagnosis' of what it could be in his trunk.

"I don't think it was actually drugs. The illegal kind, that is. Though you were pretty desperate at one point, you hadn't finished all your options yet. You've been clean by your own admission for a long while, so I don't think it was that. Not to mention, despite being tight on money, you're not that desperate for cash flow as to be into dealing." Though he was peering closely at Chase as Chase once more peeked at him between two fingers. Chase gave a small shake of his head, indicating that 'no it wasn't drugs'. Though, he wouldn't mind some about now, truth be known.

"So, it was a body, it wasn't drugs, hm... what else is there to be ashamed of? Well, there's a lot of things." House raised his brows and tilted his head as he pursed his lips in thought.

"I'm not ashamed... just... embarrassed." Chase pulled his hands down and glared at him heatedly, despite the fact that he was no longer angry. This was more of a game at the moment. "There is a difference."

"Something embarrrrrasssssing." House looked delighted by the idea, rubbing his hands together and grinning. "That kind of narrows it down a bit. Not much, mind you, but more. Hm... what would be embarrassing to you?"

"It's really not that important." Chase told him, hoping it wouldn't put House off the scent. Nah! That NEVER worked. He was safe in saying that and keeping the game going. Telling him it didn't matter or that something isn't important was the surest way to make sure that House did pursue it until he discovered the answer.

"Oh, but I think it is if you're so worried about it." House said in an almost teasing manner. "Now, what can it possibly be?" House put a finger to his chin, looking up at the ceiling and pretending to consider it.

"I'm no longer worried, other than, it's my CAR!" Chase bit down on a smile. He had to be at least a little irritated, or it wasn't as much fun. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked sullen. "That's all it is."

"Noooooo, it isn't. Hm, let's see, what is something that realllllly bothers you on occasion? Now, it seems to me, that you mentioned on occasion that it is your reputation that bothers you at times. It was part of why you wouldn't admit how you got hurt." House smirked slowly. The light in his eyes growing and the look on his face turning ever more lecherous. "Ohhhhhh, Chase, you bad bad boy. Are there toys in the car?"

Chase could feel his face flushing fiercely. His face was hot to the touch as he covered his face again and he grimaced as House started to laugh low in his throat. "Oh, Chase! Ohhhhhh, you bad bad boy! Well then, we'll just have to get it back. After all, it's a waste of money to have to buy that all back." House said in a reasonable manner, trying to look sweet as Chase peeked at him again.

"You don't care about the car itself, do you?" Chase asked as he peeked between his fingers at House, sighing deeply. "My poor defenseless car out there all alone in the cold hard world?"

"Not particularly." House admitted, pulling his cup of coffee closer to himself. "It was kind of an ugly car." He shook his head and then sneered lightly. "Sensible and responsible. Who wants to drive something like that? It has no balls. It was a Wilsonmobile."

"I thought one of your cars looked 'sensible and responsible'." Chase tried a small smile as he pulled his hands down again. He was feeling so much calmer now, even if his face was still heated.

"It's more like, 'the weather is bad, and my nicer vehicles don't need to be out in it' type of car. Even I try to avoid taking the bike out on ice or in a complete downpour. No matter what Cuddy and Wilson think." House shook his head. "Not to mention the 'I can't get Wilson to shop for my food and they aren't delivering today, so I need room for bags' car. Gotta get the peanut butter and soup somewhere!"

"Where IS Wilson?" Chase tried to change the subject. While he desperately wanted his car, he also didn't want House to probe too deeply as to what exactly it was in his 'fun-sack' in the trunk. Not right now, at least. Later? Wellllllll? Then he'd be more than happy to, when they could explore it more in-depth.

"Work, I suppose?" House frowned. "Funny, I don't remember hearing his hair dryer. That thing is as loud as living by the airport. He's supposed to talk to the supervisor this afternoon about the apartment upstairs. I already called him this morning and told him that he's to accept him and to check to make sure the apartment is fixed up properly."

"You know? I just wondered something, why don't you have a wheelchair ramp put in?" Chase frowned. "A lot of buildings are supposed to have them already set up. Isn't there laws and such?"

House just kind of shrugged, shaking his head and wrinkling his nose. "It's on the list. But chances are, it'll be round the back on the side when it is installed--" He was interrupted by the phone and glared at it as he looked at the phone number. Then raised his brows answering it quickly. "Hello? Mom?"

Chase felt himself immediately tense, and gripped the armrests of his chair tightly. He wanted so much to yell out 'hang up!' but that wasn't even an option to consider. Instead, he was forced to sit there and listen as House told her that she was free to come over. There was a trace of reluctance in House's eyes, but at the same time a spark that was hard to put a name to. Chase wasn't sure if it was anger, resolution, or perhaps just rebellion. All he knew was that House hung up soon after and drained his coffee before hauling himself up and heading to the bedroom. "I'm getting dressed. She'll be here soon."

And that was all he said before disappearing through the doorway. Chase looked down at himself, dressed still in his pajama bottoms and a t-shirt and decided it just wasn't worth the effort. Screw it and her. He didn't need her approval anymore, as far as he was concerned. He'd tried to win it, before he realized that she wasn't that great, and now? He just no longer gave a shite.

All his naughty bits were covered quite well, and that would just have to be good enough for everyone else today. He felt the irrational urge to stick his tongue out at... well... someone. Not sure who yet. But that was because he was falling back down into a 'mood' again. This time, because House's mother. He scowled at the wall for a few minutes.

Chase rolled himself out into the living room and positioned himself in front of the 'idiot' box as one of his teachers used to call it. Sometimes, it was indeed mind numbing entertainment, and for a moment, he considered grabbing one of his crossword puzzles as a better alternative. But then decided he'd never be able to concentrate on it right now, so he might as well numb his mind further. Maybe his mood would improve slightly again. What a grump he was being. He sighed to himself. Knock it off, Chase. You know better!

Nothing seemed to be on, and he eventually let the channel settle on some kind of discussion group that was going on in front of a studio audience that seemed to be made up of the 'average' person.

A bunch of women were sitting around discussing whatever it was that was on the news or happening in their own lives. Most of them seemed to agree, but then there was always at least one that had a different opinion and then they would spend the next ten minutes arguing their points until they would decide to 'move on'. It was mostly background noise as he let his mind flow and wander. He was restless due to inactivity. He knew that. And that was making him frustrated. Easily irritated. Prickly. He knew it would happen and had even warned House about it. House had handled it pretty well so far, but right now? He was trying to dress for his mother and Chase wanted to yell at him to 'lock the door and pretend we're not home'.

He did note that at least one of the younger women on the show reminded him of one of his step-sisters. It was easy at that point to label her as 'bitch'. Deep down, he knew that wasn't a fair assessment because he didn't even know who this woman was. But it was part of his many flaws to make 'snap' judgments based on little or no knowledge. One side of his brain said 'she's probably perfectly nice'. The other side said, she looks like Kate, so she probably acts like Kate. Therefore 'bitch' should be applied regularly and often and with great enthusiasm.

Chase was just beginning to ponder whether or not a person's name could influence someone's personality, as the ladies were indeed discussing, when House came back into the living room. He'd still not shaved, no, and his hair could still use a brush through it. But he was at least clean, and wearing clean clothes. He sat down in his beloved recliner and glared at the television. "Is there a reason we're watching hens cluck at each other?"

"Couldn't find anything decent." Chase shrugged. He imagined shoving his irritation into a bottle and then burying it in the sand. He would behave once House's mother got here. "Besides, they're discussing current events. Like news, only I keep hoping they'll turn it into a cat fight. Instead of just making catty remarks when they disagree."

"Hope springs eternal, but unfortunately a couple of those chicks aren't spring chickens anymore. I don't want to see those two there in a string bikini with jello. Now the one on the end? Maybe so. But let's turn to something decent..." He trailed off as he heard the name 'House' on the screen. Chase also froze in place, looking up at the television in surprise a second later.

It occurred to Chase at that point that neither of them had really watched the news all that often since everything had started. On one level he'd known that some of it had to have hit the news. But he'd hardly thought it was something that was still IN the news. Much less on a national level!

I"You know, I heard they are moving John House to a new area in the jail to be evaluated for mental problems today." One of the ladies said, leaning back and taking a sip of water before continuing. "Personally? I think he's just trying to get off with a lighter sentence. I mean, even ignoring the rumors about past crimes and investigations and stuff. No one can deny that he assaulted and injured his son and two other doctors! Why is this such a difficult thing to comprehend. I mean, even if he IS mentally ill, it doesn't negate his need to take responsibility for his actions. He should not be allowed back on the streets!"

"Oh, please." One of the other women scoffed. "How can someone mentally ill possibly take responsibility for their actions when they don't realize those actions are wrong! Maybe he is mentally ill. Maybe he's not. Maybe? He's going senile! He deserves the chance to at least have a fair evaluation. I approve of the court's decision to move him to a new location pending that evaluation. It's not as though he's been convicted!"

"But we do know he did it. It was on the film!" One of the other women talked over her, trying to make her point. "Convicted or not? We know he did it. He hurt his son and struck two other doctors!"

"But there could be mental defects which altered his way of thinking!" The other woman argued back again.

"So we should let out killers and rapists, because chances are they are mentally ill?" One of the other women challenged. "If you're asking me, anyone that does that kind of thing is sick in the head. But I don't want them out and about so they can keep on doing it!"

"You are putting words into my mouth. I never said that. But he deserves the chance for treatment and rehabilitation." The woman stressed. "I'm not saying let them out. You know, the state in question, from what I understand and have been reading about, wants to make a hospital for violent criminals. But so far haven't found a place to build it."

"Well no doubt. I mean, the chances of endangering the doctors and nurses? As well as escape? Who wants that next door?" One of the ladies that hadn't spoken of the subject till then said. "What I want to know is, what does the wife have to say about all this? I mean, she's been pretty much in seclusion throughout this whole ordeal. The charges originally brought against her were dropped! No one really knows what is going on in her head. How does she feel about her husband's actions? How does she feel about her son's relationship with another male doctor as well?"/i

Chase grimaced and then winced as he saw House gaping at the television. This was far far more coverage and destruction of his privacy than House or Chase would EVER want! This was horrifying! People all over the country knew their names? Knew who they were? Knew they were TOGETHER? Chase tried to sink down in his chair, as though to hide from the world. This was a nightmare. Surely he'd wake up soon?

I"I don't think it should matter whether or not he's seeing a man or a woman. He's a grown man, hell he's what? Fifty?" The blonde woman laughed. "Pretty damn sexy, by the way. Those blue eyes! MmmMmmm."/i

"Not yet!" House protested in irritation. "But hey? Sexy? Cool!"

I"By the time you're at that age, you should have the right to date who you want without your parents sticking their nose in your business." The woman chuckled and shook her head. "I mean? When I turned twenty, I told my mom and dad that it was MY life. Let me screw it up as I see fit. This man is fifty, and his parents are still interfering? Come on! That's ridiculous."

"But they are from an older generation. It wasn't as acceptable back then. It isn't completely 'acceptable' these days. It's just that people have more right to protest bad treatment, as well they should!" One of the other women said. "Everyone has the right to be treated equally no matter their gender, religion, sexuality or ethnic origin. And all that good stuff!" She wiggled her fingers with a giggle. Then sobering up, she added. "But when they were young? Things were different!"

"That doesn't excuse it. And it certainly doesn't excuse violence, particularly since John House nearly killed his son over it!" One of the other woman raised her voice, obviously agitated. "How could he possibly thought he'd get away with that? And if he treated the man this way as an adult? It makes me shudder to think what he may have done to him as a child! I bet he used to take the boy around the woodshed and tan his hide!"

"Have you seen a picture of his boyfriend yet?" One of the other women, the one that Chase dubbed 'bitch', asked suddenly as she smirked. "Oh. My. GOD! He's hot! I don't know what Dr. House has on offer? But it MUST be good. Sexy or not? That boy could get anything male or female if he tried." She fanned herself and grinned. "Those eyes, that hair, that body! And still so youuunng!"

"Speaking of body, apparently when all of this went down, the boyfriend was in the hospital with injuries and illness." One of the older women sipped her tea and gave them a significant look. "I wonder how that came about, poor boy? I heard that Dr. House was trying to go see him when he was attacked!"

"They won't say, because of the doctor-patient confidentiality." One of the other women interrupted. "But what I heard, was that his back was broken in an accident. Probably a car accident? And that he had a heart attack during the surgery to fix it."

"At his age? Poor boy! All banged up, trying to get well, his life in danger? And his boyfriend is attacked right outside his room." The older woman shook her head. "What is this world coming to?"

"Maybe they can take care of each other." One of the women suggested with a small smile. "Change each other's bandages and such. They're both doctors after all. But it has to be hard, on both of them."

"Well, a theory is that sometimes, doctors just like to take care of people. Maybe they have the best of both worlds. A hot boyfriend that happens to be sick!" The oldest woman grinned, looking pleased. "Could even be a kink? Oh, can we talk about that on-air?"

The other ladies laughed, shushing her and steering the conversation away from medical kinks.

"Either way, and regardless. I would still like to hear what the mother has to say on everything. You know she could not have been blind to her husband's behavior throughout the years. And in my mind? That makes her just as responsible as the husband himself." The younger woman declared. "If he was abusive to the boy as a child? And she knew about it? These days? They would have lost custody so fast as soon as someone suspected!"

"Different time period." The woman that had stated such before slowly shook her head. "People minded their own business and no one wanted to know. Back then, a man could get away with abusing their wives."

"Any man ever touch me that way, wouldn't be long for this world." One of the women said with venom and to the applause of the audience. "I don't care what time period I lived in."

"No excuse." The younger woman said as well. "Right is right and wrong is wrong. And any woman that allows her son to be abused? Should not be allowed to raise them either."

"That's awful extreme." The other woman winced. "I mean? Maybe she needed a better education herself? She probably loves her son. Just didn't know better. Besides which? He's an adult now. Old enough to be a grandfather himself! But on the subject of children? I don't think taking away children is necessarily the best thing to do every time. But I do think education is the key..."/i

House had turned the television off at this point. Chase closed his eyes and silently groaned. Oh, this was sooooo not gooooood. He wished to hell he'd never turned the television on in the first place. If he could turn back time? He would have reconsidered doing his crossword puzzles. They were nice, safe, and didn't speak on national television about his relationships.

House was glaring so hard at the television that Chase half thought it should by all rights burst into flames.

"Too late to change our names and move to Aruba?" Chase half-heartedly joked. Now that House was pissed off and irritated, Chase found himself doing an emotional one-eighty and trying to bring House back up.

House rolled his eyes toward Chase and then shook his head. Then snorted bitterly. "You know what's funny? They make me sound like a... romantic old man trying to kiss and make it better for you." He grumbled. "Some sort of romantic tragedy where I was attacked just trying to get to your poor dying side..."

"Or, if it makes you feel any better? It could sound more like you're a dirty old man that is taking advantage of a sick and wounded younger man for your own sexual gratification?" Chase offered with a hopeful face and a small smile, batting his eyes.

"Thank you." House offered a smile of his own, his face relaxing slightly as he gave him a wry chuckle. "You say the sweetest things."

"I try." Chase offered a grin, though it felt stiff on his face. He was still appalled to be a subject on a 'henfest show'.

There was a tentative knock at the door, and Chase wanted to groan. House's mother. Argh. He paused in his irritation to consider that this must be how son-in-laws feel about their mother-in-laws. Though he was sure he had more reason to dislike her than the most people did. His emotions were giving him whiplash today.

House pushed himself up to his feet and opened the door after only a moment of hesitation. "Mom." He said by way of greeting, and then as she opened her arms for a hug, he slowly gave her one.

He stepped aside to let her in and then shut and locked the door.

"I was rather surprised none of the press have been camped outside your door." She confessed, looking oddly embarrassed and unable to meet anyone's eyes as she slowly crossed the floor. "I had to sneak out the back at the hotel."

"Probably, because as far as they are concerned? I live across town. One of my friends is set to start hobbling around in front of the window with a cane when they think I'm out of the hospital, which should be either tomorrow or the next day." He smirked. "For some reason? They all still think we're in the hospital. But yeah, Seth will cover my ass."

"You..." She trailed off, flushing slightly as she looked guiltily away.

"I have friends? Yes, mom. I actually have more than one or two friends, all jokes aside. They're not close friends, no. But they are people I play poker with, and who occasionally help me out in return for me helping them out. Antibiotic here, physical there." He shrugged. "I don't always know their full names, birthdays, or even what goes on in their lives. But they're... friends."

Chase wondered if House's reluctance to really delve too deeply in other people's lives, those that he may class as friends, was partially due to losing so many friends over the years. Even if he hadn't known they were dead, he knew they were no longer in his life and that had to hurt.

House kept his friends as far away as possible, in order to protect himself. And that is why Wilson and now, himself, had far more power to 'hurt' him now. Chase almost felt dizzy at the realization and the weight of that responsibility. He held himself perfectly still as it dawned on him just how powerful, deep, and important it was that House had let him in this far. This was trust on its most primal level. And earlier? He'd been kind of arseholish. Again, he felt guilty.

"I'm sorry, honey. I never meant it to sound..." Blythe said awkwardly. "It's just that you're such a loner these days. I'm glad you have good friends that will help you." She gave him an apologetic look. "You were always such a sweet boy."

"Yeah. Sweet." House said sarcastically. "I've been pissing people off since I was what? Three?"

"You were curious and inquisitive. There is nothing wrong with that. It was a mark of intelligence." She said with certainty, her fingers clasped around her purse.

"Did you ever tell dad that?" House raised a brow as he sat down on his chair, but didn't fold it out.

Blythe sat down, still holding her purse tightly in her hands. "Of course." She looked furtively over at Chase and then back at House. Chase tried to look as blank as possible. He couldn't bring himself at this point to make this more difficult. Not after this morning and everything else today. Especially not after realizing how much he probably meant to House at this point to let him in so close.

House gave her a small thin smile. "Anything we discuss? We're discussing in front of Chase." He told her bluntly. "Saves time on me telling him later. And... I'm trying out this new thing. It's called an 'equal relationship'. It's all the rage these days. All the popular kids are doing it!"

"It's just that... it's... well... a family issue." She whispered softly, reluctant, and still awkward.

"Well then, good news! Chase is family! He's my family, now." House said defiantly. "Because I said so. I'm a big boy now. The news network even said so! Of course, I was also called sexy. So who am I to argue?"

Chase held his breath again, and internally shook a little. This was big. This was a real commitment. This was... this was on par with almost a declaration of 'marriage' for people like them. He just hoped House wasn't doing it just to irritate his mother or to rebel against her and his father.

She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together. She looked like she was trying to compose herself.

"Still hoping for grandkids, a wife, and the white picket fence in my life, aren't you?" House said bitterly. "Mom? If I wanted that, I would have had that years ago. I get whatever I truly want in life. I set a goal? I usually achieve it. Therefore? That has never been my goal. My goal at this point? Get rid of this godawful headache. Get Chase back up onto his feet. Get us both back to work. Get a dog. Have lots of sex WITH Chase. And finally? Avoid at least sixty hours of Clinic duty in a three month period. Just to see if I can!" He smirked. "I like my goals. My goals make me 'happy'. Especially the rampant sex with Chase bit. Because, as I've heard just today? He's HOT! Don't you think he's hot? The chicks on television thought so! I think he's hot! So does lil'Greg too!"

Chase felt his lips twitch and made himself look down. He didn't want to feel amusement right now, but it was hard when House was making an effort to give someone else a difficult time. And for once, House's mum was in the hotseat.

Blythe was flushing bright red and didn't seem to be able to figure out where to look. She cleared her throat and looked down at her purse.

"Oh, don't give me that." House said in irritation. "It's not like you've never had or thought about sex. In fact? From what I've read? You've probably been through the entire Kama Sutra twice. And not with my dad. Or should I call him my..." He squinted as he tried to work out the family lines. "He'd be my cousin, wouldn't he?" He raised his brows.

She paled, her mouth dropping open slightly as she stared at her son. "Why... what? No! No. Greg! That's not... what are you saying?" She sounded very distressed at this point as her hands gripped her purse.

"I'm saying, that the man you're married to? Isn't my dad. He's my cousin. Because, you slept with his Uncle, Lee House, and got pregnant. You just passed me off as John's." House widened his eyes and faked a gasp. "Wow, didn't I see this episode on one of my soaps just last week?" He turned to Chase and asked.

Chase shrugged a shoulder. "If it is any consolation at all? You're much cuter than the illegit kid on the episode."

"I'm cuuuuuute." House sang happily and then turned back to glare at Blythe who was gaping like a fish at her son. "Now, how about you stop acting like the blushing virgin? Hm? Last time I looked, people that had committed adultery at least once didn't have the right to act pure."

"I never... I didn't..." She was shaking and her eyes tearing at this point as she looked rapidly around the room before looking back at her son. "It's true I found him very attractive, but I didn't... we didn't... You are John's!" She insisted. "Please! Stop saying otherwise!"

"Liar." House snorted. "You WISH I was John's. You WISH you hadn't slept with Lee. You WISH I never found out. And you WISH that John will never learn the truth."

She tightened her jaw, despite her tears and looked him in the eyes. "Just because you look like Lee, doesn't mean you are his son. It's just a coinci--"

He laughed, interrupting her and shook his head. "DNA! D! N! A! Get the cheerleaders out here to act it out! PATERNITY TESTS! Also all the rage, particularly for the public aid set! Gotta prove the baby daddys so that they can pay out, you know? True, we're a bit past that kind of thing. But that doesn't mean we can't still do tests! And guessssss what? Lee came back..."

She'd started crying in earnest, shaking her head and denying it in almost a chant. "Wouldn't... wouldn't it be off because they are related? Lee is NOT your father..."

"They took that into consideration, and no mom. You're wrong. Let me guess? You slept with Lee and then slept with my father the same night and then convinced yourself that it could only be my dad." He scoffed.

"Damn you..." She said bitterly. "Damn it, it wasn't like that." She insisted. "We... we made a mistake. But, but we used... something."

"A condom?" House raised an eyebrow. "You know what we call people that only use condoms for birth control in the Clinic without a back up form of birth control? We call them PARENTS! Sorry, mom, you're busted. Lee is my dad. His sperm escaped captivity and made a break for it. It beat John's by a landslide and slid into home! Grand slam! Took home the Championship!"

She covered her face with her hands and quietly cried. After a few minutes, House looked almost sorry. But he also didn't take any of it back, and didn't apologize, and for that Chase was glad.

"Please." She finally said, looking up at him. "Please, don't tell either of them? They don't know."

House snorted. "Naive, after all this time. You're so damn naive. Lee suspects, and so does John. Lee, I think, knows. On some level, he knows. He also feels guilty about it. And John? He suspects, and I think it helped foster his attitude toward me throughout my life. The more I grew up to look like Lee? The more it probably felt like a knife in his gut."

"I'm sorry." She breathed. "But please? Don't tell them."

"I'm not going to tell Lee. He's getting ready to die, and I've decided I don't want to complicate his death. I don't want to put any of this on him. It isn't just that he's trying to make things easier on the rest of us by dying out of sight and letting us remember him as he was. I don't want to have his last days filled with drama because of you and your bastard husband. So, no, I'm not going to tell him. I'll always love and remember him fondly. I'm proud to have him as my biological father. And because he has always loved ME unconditionally? I will give him a peaceful death. So, rest assured, mom, he won't hear it from ME! Now? As for John? Oh... ohhhhh I can't promise that I won't ever tell him. Because? As far as I'm concerned? It IS over for us all. The thing I stated that started this mess? That I didn't want him in my life? It has not changed. He is not to interfere in my life, ever again. I don't care if he's found guilty, innocent, or just plain fucking nuts. I don't ever want to see him again."

"And me?" Blythe asked pained, her heart broken at the thought apparently. "Do you never want to see me again?"

Chase looked to House, trying to figure out what was in his face. The expression or emotion. But House had closed himself off, raised his armor and started building a wall for self protection against his mother.

"I need time." He finally admitted. "I'm not saying never? But right now? You... YOU lied to me. All these years of you calling me on MY lies? And you? You lied to me. All my life."

She shook her head, starting to try to defend herself and House put a hand up. "Don't. Just... don't. Let me... deal or get used to it. However people phrase it as these days. And then? Then it'll probably be all right. But right now? I just want things to go back to what I would term 'normal'. Even if that does mean I settle into some form of 'denial', I don't care. I'm tired of all the emotional... stuff. You? Get a cat, get a dog, get a therapist. Just get two of the three, and settle your own life. I settle mine, and then we can meet half-way. But for now? I think... it would be best if I DIDN'T see you for a while."

The tears and sobs she began to issue were heart-rending and he could see the flash of guilt across House's face and eyes. For a second, he was afraid that House would take back what he said. Take it back and tell her to stay. But as House's fingers dug into the armrests and the other man looked down, as though steeling himself he was surprised to see House follow through. He didn't take it back.

After a couple of minutes, Blythe stood up and rapidly exited the apartment still crying, and very upset.

"Well, that went well." House muttered in a heavy tone.

"Could have been worse." Chase said in lieu of anything better. "I..." He trailed off. He could say that he thought House did the right thing, but he wasn't sure how House would take that right now. After a few more minutes though, he decided to say it anyway. "I think you made the right decision. To let things just... cool down."

"She's going to hate me." House shook his head. "When she stops to think about it? She's going to hate me. I've destroyed her fantasy. The illusion and web of lies she spun. I just shattered it all for her."

"No, she won't. But I think she may hate herself for a while." Chase told him. "And... maybe that's what she needs to do. So maybe she can grow up a bit herself."

House tilted his head back against the headrest and looked toward the ceiling silently. "I have a headache." He muttered.

"You have a concussion and... a lot has gone on. I'd be very surprised if you DIDN'T have a headache. Truthfully? I'm surprised you've been doing as well as you have." Chase told him. "You could have died. You could have ended up with brain damage!"

"Always said I was hard-headed. But really? I wasn't hurt that bad." He gave a tiny shake of his head. "It could have been worse. Just a bit more pressure? Then it would have been bad." He confessed. "But yeah, I've had a constant headache since then." He rubbed his temple. "Just not worth bitching about all the time."

"You can, you know? Bitch. You do have the right." Chase pointed out. "Sometimes, I think it is almost a release valve. And it DOES hurt."

"You've not been bitching too much." House said in return. "If I'm allowed to bitch, why aren't you? Wouldn't that keep you from getting all pissed off and lashing out at things that aren't even related to the problem that's really irritating you? Pot? Meet Kettle!"

Chase smiled, knowing he'd been caught out. Hoisted by his own petard, so to speak. "Yeah okay. Got me there. But I think we should keep an eye on your headaches, because if they get worse? You'll need more scans. I don't want you to die, you know."

"Thank you. I'm pretty partial to living myself." House admitted. He lay his head back and closed his eyes. "I'm tired." He added, his voice very faint. "Just want it all to be over and done with. Wish it had never started."

"One of my teachers as the Seminary used to tell me, 'this too shall end'. Whenever it would seem overwhelming, I was to stop and say to myself 'this too shall end'. Sometimes it works for me, sometimes it doesn't. It just depends on what it was that I was thinking about at the time." Chase said thoughtfully. "This too shall end." He said, looking down at his wheelchair and breathed slowly. It could be worse. He could be paralyzed like so many other people.

"I gave up on hoping 'this' would end, years ago." House paused as he thought about it a moment longer. "But I guess it will soon, either way."

There was a knock on the door, but seconds later they could hear a key jingling as Wilson let himself into the apartment. He was grinning and seemed quite happy as he entered the living room area. "Hey, neighbors!" He greeted them.

"You got the apartment?" House asked, as though surprised. The mask slid into place, hiding the emotional turmoil and pain that had been on his face just seconds before they heard Wilson at the door. Chase felt his own face shift into a neutral expression. His own mask.

"Yep. The supervisor said they were eager to get the units rented out and that I had a good history as far as he could see. He gave me the key just twenty minutes ago. First and last month's rent, you know the usual. Deposit and stuff. And! I'm allowed to have a pet, which means that..."

"Your zombie dog might show back up? Isn't that damn thing DEAD yet?" House wrinkled his brow. "Are you SURE it isn't a vampire? Does Bonnie sometimes wake up with suspicious bite marks on her body? Perhaps the local neighborhood cats turn up drained?"

Wilson gave House a look. "Hector is... wasn't... a vampire. He's passed on." He paused, looking vaguely sad. "BUT..." He smiled slightly. "Bonnie had him... well actually, he had himself breed... with a neighbor dog before Bonnie could stop him... and there were puppies!"

"Damn! Did he have a heart attack during the sex? What a way to go... brings whole new meaning to 'you ol'dog!'" House paused as he saw the embarrassed look that Wilson sported and widened his eyes. "I WAS KIDDING! He died having sex with the neighbor's dog?"

Wilson rubbed the back of his neck and gave House an embarrassed look.

"I have a whole new level of respect for that mutt." House was impressed. Chase was too busy trying not to laugh.

"Anyway, they're about a year old, almost. Bonnie couldn't bear to give them to strangers. And they reminded her of Hector. The neighbor didn't want them, of course, so Bonnie took them all. I have dibs on one."

House slowly shook his head. "What are you naming it? Should I hazard a guess?" He asked.

Wilson crossed his arms over his chest and looked at House. "Go ahead. Guess."

"Junior." House called out, his voice filled with confidence.

Wilson's shoulders slumped a little and again had the small shy embarrassed smile as he admitted. "I suppose it would be pretty obvious. House? Please don't addict this one to Vicodin?"

"What? I neverrrr!" He protested, but Chase knew that there had to be more to it than that. House didn't do innocent well.

"According to Bonnie? Hector would stare longingly at the medicine cabinet from that point on, and would get happy whenever she shook out a midol pill." Wilson gave House a severe look.

House wiped his hand over his mouth, trying to destroy the smile that was threatening. "Maybe Hector just wanted Bonnie to be less bitchy."

"I somehow doubt that. I seem to recall you throwing one to him and calling it 'candy'. AND he walked with a limp." Wilson was into finger shaking stage.

"It was an acciiiiiident. Accidents happen." House swore.

"I want no accidents for Junior." Wilson told him.

"I want no accidents for Junior either! The idea of stepping in dogturd isn't exactly appealing to me either. But hey! I have an idea." House snapped his fingers. "It might be a while before Chase can really play with a dog with any degree of enthusiasm. Perhaps occasionalllllly, you could take our dog when we get one, for a walk."

Wilson stared at them and then said. "I'm so glad that Chase is a man. I say this, because if he were a woman and someday you two actually had a child, it is almost CERTAIN that you would call me at three in the morning to come change the child and feed it for you."

House raised his brows, squinted one eye as he tilted his head to the side and then nodded. "That's about right."

Wilson sighed, looking heavenward and shaking his head. "Right. Well I'm going upstairs to look at the apartment some more."

"See you later. Now, no loud parties up there." House told him. "I'd hate to have to beat on my ceiling with my cane and yell 'shut up' at all hours of the night."

"Somehow? I don't think you have to worry about that. Me on the other hand?" Wilson gave House a good natured glare as he turned and exited the apartment, definitely in a better mood than before.

"That's one plot completed." Chase gave House a small smile as he shifted in his seat.

"And a million to go." House returned his tiny smile and leaned back in his recliner, closing his eyes and settling in for a nap.

-- 


	84. Chapter 84

(Author's Notes: Okay, word of warning? There wasn't a lot of material I could find on what it is actually like INSIDE a psychiatric unit in a prison. So I had to combine what I do know of a local psychiatric unit I dealt with about eight years ago with what I've seen of prisons. It is probably NOT accurate, but just chalk it up to 'Experimental program that isn't going to work out apparently'. Ahem.

This was an extremely HARD chapter for me to get out, and yes it is shorter than the other chapters, but there wasn't much more for me to write on it. So it stands as is.

Third arc will continue the story. Probably will start up in August once I'm settled in my new house and get the kids back into school)

--

"Boy, do you ever stop talking?" John House looked over at the other inmate across the table from him. The old man was irritated, and cranky as he moved his spoon around his mashed potatoes that had come from flakes rather than honest real potatoes as they would have with his wife cooking.

He'd been moved from one building to another earlier in the week, but from what he could see there wasn't that much of a difference between them. He was still with other prisoners, only difference now was that about once a day he was escorted to speak with a doctor and he was schedule to speak with a group once a week. Group therapy. What joy.

"Who you callin' boy?" The man across from him glared, his eyes narrowing as his lips twisted into a snarl. "You tryin' to start somethin'?"

"No. But you've been yapping since you sat down." John glared back, not afraid to meet his eyes in return. "Can't you just sit there and eat like most people?"

The guards were above them, watching them from a higher vantage point and the inmate across from him flicked a look up before looking back down at John. "You better watch yourself, old man. You don't want to be startin' something you can't finish." He whispered, his lips still twisted in disgust for the older man.

He was heavily tattooed. The ink scarred over in places, as though he'd somehow cut over the old after the tattoos were originally done. But it wasn't scarred completely, making it look like it was almost an accident. But it made no sense that an accident would have only happened precisely over the tattoo on his chest. He was big and beefy, and his dark skin glistened with sweat as he was somewhat challenging the old man.

"I assure you, I can more than finish anything..."

There was a call that it was time to leave the lunch area. Silverware was always counted. In a lot of ways, it was like being in the service, in that his day was very structured. At least, that was what John told his cellmate after a few days. The little man wore glasses, and seemed very unassuming. Nervous, and almost afraid of John. Christopher Baccalieri.

The first night in his new 'room', John had asked what the man was in for. Taxes? Fraud? Jaywalking? So 'wimpy' that it was hard for anyone to believe he could be in for anything but the most accidental of crimes.

The little man shook his head nervously and stammered that he was in for murder. He was being evaluated because he had been prone to blackouts before the event and couldn't actually remember killing the other man.

He'd sat on his bunk, twisting his fingers together as he looked down at them. John snorted and shook his head, commenting that he couldn't see it himself. Asked what the weapon had been.

Gun, of course. The great equalizer. It didn't matter your gender, size, or ability. So long as you could aim in the right direction and pull the trigger, you had a good chance of taking down your target. It wasn't foolproof, true, but since there were sometimes more accidental deaths than purposeful deaths it was a good bet that the odds were with you.

They rarely spoke more than a few words to each other each day so far, but as John stretched out on the bunk above him, his roomie tentatively asked. "Do you think... um... well... do you think they'll believe us?" He asked quietly. It was easy to imagine him biting his lower lip and blinking watery eyes behind his glasses.

"Why? Aren't you telling the truth?"

Chris could hear the amusement in John's voice, and he frowned. "Does the truth ever matter? I mean, you can tell the truth and still not be believed." He stared up above him, as though he could see through the mattress.

"That's because everybody lies. And because everyone lies, it is easier to believe you're being lied to, first. Guilty until proven innocent." John snorted in the amused tone. "What does worrying about it solve? Just keep to whatever game plan you and your lawyer have, and let the rest sort it out."

"Easy for you to say, you're in for what? Aggravated assault? I'm in for murder. I could get the death penalty." Chris said, with barely restrained fear. His voice shook and he had the desperate quality of a man that knew he was doomed, but hadn't quite accepted it as yet. "Im going to get the death penalty!"

"Do they have you on film?" John asked snidely. "I did my thing where there was a camera. I still can't believe I lost control like that." He sighed. The mattress shifted slightly above Chris. The sigh had been heavy, filled with irritation.

"So you really did lose control?" Chris asked quietly, his hands behind his head as he continued to watch the bed above him.

"Yeah." John said quietly and sighed again. "I really did lose control. Doesn't happen often, but it did that time. Did you really blackout?"

Chris clicked his tongue and said. "I had a blackout that night." He told him. Of course, that was after the fact, but it wasn't as though Chris was going to trust John not to rollover on him by making a deal. "I've had blackouts since I was a teen. Never know what goes on during them, not 'nless someone tells me."

"What causes them?" John asked, though he didn't sound really all that interested. Chris could almost hear what John was thinking. 'Just an excuse to do what you want, and get away with it.'

"Nerves." Chris sighed. "I've always been the nervous sort. Even when I was young, and my cousins would all come over for a big family dinner? I'd get nervous and never be able to eat. Bobby, he's a big eater. Used to eat my portion. Nice guy for the most part. But just being in the same room with him made me nervous sometimes. I think he's dead now."

"You talk a lot when you're nervous too, don't you?" John still sounded faintly bored.

"I'll shut up." Chris offered, turning over on his side, trying to think of what else to do. He'd hoped that John would open up a bit to him, if he opened up first.

"Nah, I'm bored. You might as well talk." John told him to Chris' relief. Chris mouthed thank you to the ceiling, thanking a higher power. "So guess it's natural you're worried and nervous about what they are going to decide on you, huh?" John asked.

"Well, yeah. I'm all tied up into knots about it." Chris told him, rolling onto his back again and looking up at John's mattress. He folded his hands over his stomach and tightened his fingers tightly while crossing his ankles. "Aren't you worried, at all? I mean, they have you on tape and everything. And didn't I hear they are trying to investigate you for like, murder and stuff?"

"They won't find anything." John told him confidentially. "It's all coincidence and timing. Even if they can prove I was still around when whomever died, they can't prove I did it. It's all just smoke and mirrors. No proof. No. Not worried in the least about any investigations. As for being on tape? Yeah. They got me on that. But I have a good case for Post Traumatic. And I was stressed. My son had just told me he was cutting me out of his life, and that he was involved in a relationship with a guy. One two punch for me."

"Do you actually have it?" The younger man asked, curious. "I mean, not like I'll tell anyone if you don't. If you ask me, you're too uh... there should be some kind of cut off limit on age to be in a place like this. Prison isn't the right place."

"Yeahhhh, like I'm going to tell you anything different other than what I tell my doctor?" John chuckled. "Sorry, not going to fall for that. I didn't fall off the truck yesterday, kid."

"What you think I'm going to roll over on you and try to get off myself? It wouldn't even work if I tried it. Besides, people that roll over tend to end up dead. I want to live." Chris told him in a near mutter. "It isn't worth my hide to do something like that. For all I know? You're connected."

"Connected to what?" John honestly sounded confused.

"You know." Chris didn't quite whine the words. Surely this guy wasn't naive about this kind of thing? This was New Jersey for cryin' out loud!

"Know what? I have no idea what the hell you're talking about." John, leaned down and peeked at him from the top bunk. "What are you rattling on about?"

"You know... connected." He hissed the words, looking around to make sure no one was watching them. "To the mob, or something. This is New Jersey you know."

John laughed at him, flopping back down on his mattress. "You watch too much television, kid. I'm from Kansas. A retired Marine. I'm not even from around here. Who the hell would I be connected TOO?"

"Just can't be too careful. You never know sometimes. One of the many things that make me nervous around here." Chris said almost fearfully again. Playing up the 'I'm harmless' aspect. 'I have more to fear from you, than you from me!'

"Chances are, anyone that's told you they are 'connected' are lying their ass off and trying to scare you." John sounded amused from his perch above Chris. "If there were that many mobsters in this state, you'd have no normal people. Most ridiculous thing I've ever heard..."

"True." Chris said carefully, a trace of a smile on his lips. The man had absolutely no idea, did he? He truly was a redneck hick. Nor did he realize that his son had made an ally a couple of years back to one of the big guys. "Mind if I ask a personal question though?"

"You can ask, doesn't mean I'll answer." John told him with a loud snort. Chris made a face underneath him. What a rube.

"What was it that pissed you off the most about your son? Was it that he told you he didn't want to see you anymore? Or that he um... well... you know." Chris asked thoughtfully.

"That he's a fairy?" John finished for him. "I don't know. Guess I didn't like either. But I've fought all my life to try and keep my family the way it should be, and then to have the boy tell me that he was destroying it all at this late date? All my hard work? That it meant nothing? Why? You trying to tell me you're a fairy too?"

"No. No. No. I have a... well... had... a girlfriend." Chris said quickly. "Homos don't really last too long where I'm from. I mean, it happens? But it ain't something you talk about, you know? But nah. I'm not. No. If it happens in your family, you kind of try to hide it. They get married, have kids, and keep it on the 'down low', I think is the phrase. But no no no. I'm not a queer."

"Worried I'll beat you up too?" John teased lightly. "Don't worry. I don't need any more trouble. What happens to the homos if they don't last long where you're from?"

"Well." Chris said carefully, making a calculated risk as he confessed. "If they don't keep it down, and quiet? If they bring it into the open? They tend to end up dead. This one guy? Vito? He didn't even bring it out into the open on purpose. He had a wife, two kids, the whole thing. But he got caught out, and... before anyone realized it? He was yesterday's news. Someone killed him."

"You know who did it? Might be able to use it to your advantage with the DA?" John asked, once more leaning over and looking down at Chris.

Chris shook his head quickly. "No. No! And even if I did? I want to keep on living I wouldn't tell anyone! No. I have no idea. Just know that Vito is dead, and buried. You just don't do that kind of stuff where I come from! And if you do? You keep it secret."

"They do that with everyone? Or just those in the 'family'?" John asked, raising a brow and giving Chris a considering look. "You're connected, aren't you? Feeling me out or something?"

"Me? Connected? No." Chris denied, shaking his head giving him a nervous laugh. "I ain't got the nerves for it, and they'd never let me in. You know? Not that I'd want to. I'm just a lowly accountant. And it's more of a family thing, yeah. Vito's brother in law was really pissed when he found out. Not that I'm accusing him, or anything. Would never do that. But that was his little sister that Vito was cheating on. She could have ended up with AIDS or something, you know?"

"So someone outside of the family? They'd just... ignore it? Or what?" John asked, laying back down, sounding far more considering.

"Guess it would depend. I imagine so. There'd probably be far more murders in this state, on the same principal which you stated not everyone would be connected." Chris said with a trace of humor. "So, guess you'd have to say it is tolerated outside of the family. Or those that were useful, helpful... whatever. Owed them a favor, maybe?"

"So, in your family, say you had a brother. Would he have ended up dead? For being a homo?" John asked, making the bunk squeak as he move around above Chris.

"Would depend." He repeated. "I think it would just depend."

"On?"

"What he did with his life. Cause, you know, there's useful people out there. They say hate the sin, love the sinner? You know? And if I had a brother that was smart, a doctor, and was owed favors by a bunch of people? He'd probably get a pass. If he was more like, say, me? He'd probably be dead." Chris' laugh was rather rueful. "A case of what you know, who you know, and what you can do for others. I guess."

"Does that mean you think I was wrong or right about what I did?" John sounded confused from above Chris.

Chris smiled wryly again and slowly shook his head, knowing that John couldn't see him. "I think, it isn't up to me to decide. I always kind of in the end figure, god will sort it out, after we're all dead. You know?"

For the rest of the night, it was quiet, though John nor Chris were asleep. Once in a while, John would make a sound like he was going to speak, but then he never did. He jumped down at least once to use the toilet and gave Chris a tentative look. Chris looked so nervous though, that John looked more confident as he climbed back onto the top bunk, leaving Chris to his thoughts.

--

Each day was much like the one before it. Even down to the places they sat when it was time to eat. John on one side, beside him Chris, and across from them both two men that looked like they could have been heavyweight champions had they not been criminals.

Chris kept his head down, appearing too scared to look them in the eye while John just seemed to be ignoring them altogether.

But the two men were glaring at John. Always glaring at him.

Chris knew why. It had started pretty much the day John had arrived for evaluation. He had a habit of calling people 'boy'. And considering the race of the two men on the other side of the table, they had not taken it too well.

One of them, Chris knew had once been on Death Row before somehow getting a reprieve. His strange tattoos were a source of wonder, but Chris still hadn't gotten the nerve to ask him about them directly. Reminded him kind of like one of them Tribes that practiced scarification. But right now? He looked like he was wanting to take his spork and practice on John.

Apparently, he'd had a kind of tumor that made people aggressive. The man had killed his girlfriend as well as a few others, but then a couple of years ago, they discovered and removed it. A doctor had testified to the effects and with another year of discussion and legal wrangling his lawyers managed to get him off the Row and put into a program. He was seeking treatment for anger issues as well as guilt and grief from his actions before.

Chris unconsciously moved a little to the side, as though to indicate 'just because I'm sitting here, doesn't mean I'm with John House as a friend'.

It had only been in the last day or two though, that the men had started to exchange words with one another. Almost as though to attempt to provoke John into doing something. So far, it had been a bit of verbal sparring that reminded Chris of the playgrounds of the world. He kept expecting one of them to bust out with 'No, you!' or 'I know you are, but what am I?' but so far so good, no one had quite stooped that low... yet.

"So, heard your fag of a son was getting out of the hospital today." One of the big men said, smirking in John's direction. "Wanna bet that is what they want to talk about in group today? How does it make you feel knowing your son takes it up the ass?"

Those that overheard them, laughed. But it was the man directly in front of John that watched him the closest. Well, him and Chris.

"Figure about the same as your dad feels, knowing you do." John countered, seemingly disinterested as he poked at his food.

The bigger man's eyes narrowed. "I bet I know your problem. You're jealous. You want it yourself..."

He never got farther than that, because he managed to push the button just right to make John jump up. He was leaning over the table, an arm pulled back, fist made. The guards blew the whistle and things were being locked down. Chris ducked under the table. The table was jarred and jostled as the two men struggled with each other. The guards were calling out orders as they struggled to regain control of the area. Other prisoners either stepped aside, holding their hands up to show they weren't involved, or they began to throw down with others, using the moment as an opportunity to riot. Doors were being locked down, the area isolated.

Chris crawled out the other side of the table and looked up to see the tattooed man quirk the edge of his lips into a smirk and nod. John was being held to the ground now, at the edge of the table. He was being pounded on, and Chris felt the sharp piece of plastic being pressed into his hand as the huge black guy held up his hands and went to stand with them against the wall. Seemingly no longer part of the riot.

For a moment, Chris wondered if he'd even need to use it. The man's face was bloodied by now, and he was old, after all. But then, he figured that the money wouldn't be funneled to him if he didn't keep his end of the bargain. He might never see the money, but his kid would. He snagged John's foot, pulling him further under the table. The guy that had been pounding on him let him go, going to stand by the wall, also putting his hands up, calling out that he was giving up. He was done. Chris only had about a minute to finish his job, if that.

He plunged the end of the sharpened toothbrush into the old man's body, having aimed well. A gush of blood told him he'd struck his target. He pulled him further under the table, hoping the riot would last at least another couple of minutes. He slipped out the other side of the table, and turned to face the opposite wall, back pressed against the glass. He nodded, and another man, a 'guard' who was in pay, turned on a small hand held penlight, directing it at Chris' eyes. In seconds, Chris knew nothing more as he went into a seizure, falling to the floor.

--

The riot ended up on the local news, edging out the news that supposedly Greg House and Robert Chase were being released from the hospital. There was no information as yet on fatalities, but there was information leaked that people had been injured.

Both men were watching the news, when it came across the wire. It didn't immediately connect to Chase that it was where John had ended up. No, not immediately. Nor did it with House at first.

But then he was flipping through the channels and trying to catch all the news sources, listening to the reports, and that is when Chase put it together.

For hours, nothing more was reported on the prisoners. Toward evening, Chase was even beginning to think it hadn't had any effect on their case.

That is, until the phone rang.

And then, then he watched as House answered the phone and stood silently listening to the person on the other end.

"I see." House said softly. "All right. You too." He slowly hung up the phone and turned to Chase.

"It was mom." He paused. "It's over."

"The riot?" Chase asked, wanting clarification.

"No. Well, yes. But that's not what I meant. I mean... it's over. All of it. Dad is dead. He was killed in the riot."

"What?" Chase felt his mouth drop open.

"He pretty much started the riot. Tape shows him throwing the first punch. It's over. He's dead."

Chase watched House limping out of the room, quietly, wanting to be alone.

It was over, sure.

Only, it would never be truly over. Because, the feelings were still there. This was just a new beginning, in a lot of ways, for new problems. Nothing was ever over.

Perhaps, it was better to say things had changed.

This chapter was over in their lives, but it was just the beginning of another.


End file.
